Lost and Found
by PeaceLoveBeatles18
Summary: Her heart was hopelessly lost. He found it and pieced it back together. But they never dreamed the road to romance would be so bumpy. This is the story of the love, life, and times of Emily Scott and George Harrison. Sound familiar? It's PaperbackWriter318 here, with Lost and Found reposted!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I decided to put these back up on ffn but under a different account. Yup, this is PaperbackWriter318! **

I shivered and pulled my coat more tightly around my shoulders. I wasn't sure exactly where I was in Liverpool, but some instinct kept telling me that this was a really bad idea. Not that I cared; I just wanted to be away from my house and all the nightmares it contained.

It was actually kind of pretty here, around the docks with the ever-present fog swirling through the air, the street lights just barely illuminating the street. Not really seeing any other option, I leaned against the corner of a building and took in the scenery. I would think of somewhere to stay later. Just then, a monstrous paw of a hand shot out and clamped over my mouth and nose.

My muffled and unintelligible screams were punctuated by my frantic wriggling and kicking as I attempted to free myself, but to no avail. He slammed me against the brick wall with ease, as though I weighed no more than a small sack of potatoes. His hand left my mouth, and with its match began exploring my back for the zipper of my light green dress and my bum. As soon as my mouth was free I started screaming.

"Help me! Help me!" I screamed shrilly, kicking him with all my might. Unfortunately, "all my might" appeared to leave him unperturbed.

"Well, I caught meself a pretty little bird, didn't I?" His gigantic face loomed closer as his left hand found my zipper and tugged a little, and I could smell the alcohol and tobacco, sour on his breath. "Don't scream, me dear," he leered "It'll only make matters worse for ya. Besides, no one will 'ear ya." My obstinate personality prevailed, and I kept right on screaming and pounding against him with my feet. As I did this, one of my shoes flew off and quickly fell out of sight.

_Well, that's one shoe lost forever, _I thought grimly.

One of his ham-sized hands came up and stroked my face, making me shudder in disgust. With one hand free and a clear shot, I saw my chance. Putting as much force behind my hand as I could, I slapped him clean across the face. Even in the dim light, I could see a nice little red mark that bore extraordinary resemblance to my hand.

"Argh! Ye little bitch!" he yowled in agony. Still muttering a string of impressively nasty curses, he reached into his pocket and drew something small from it. I heard the telltale _ping!_ of a switchblade being unsheathed. This was it. I was a goner for sure.

"Just for bein' so impudent, I think this is fittin'." I opened my mouth to scream again, despite the apparent lack of help it had procured so far. "Oh go right ahead, missy," he chuckled evilly. "Like I said, no one will hear ya." He yanked on my hair brutally, so that my neck was fully exposed. I refused to cry, even though there were hot tears stinging my eyes and threatening to spill over.

"Y'know," a voice came out of the alleyway "When a bird says no, she usually means no." The teddy boy was so surprised that someone had heard me that he let go of my hair and I started trembling, my heart going double-time its already lively tempo.

"Miss," the unknown man made sure his voice only carried to me and no further, lest the teddy hear and intervene "You might want to hit the deck."

Seeing no better alternative, I obeyed and hit the dirt, scrambling sideways for good measure. I looked up just in time to see my unknown savior's fist make contact with the teddy boy's face.

A heart-stopping moment passed, and then blood spurted from his nose. The other man had broken it. He looked surprised for a moment, and then his face contorted in fury, made even worse by the flowing blood, and he roared drunkenly.

"Yer a dead man!" He bellowed, brandishing his switchblade and advancing toward the man who very probably saved my life. He swung the blade and my savior ducked, punching the teddy in the gut, doubling him over. My savior inched forward, probably intending to get the teddy with a blow to the head, thus knocking him out. No such luck.

The teddy's meaty hand shot out and grabbed the other man's wrist with a triumphant, "HA! Got you now, ya little worm!" The other man jerked his arm out of the teddy's death grip. They were locked in a fistfight now, except in the teddy's case it was more of a fist-and-switchblade fight. I think the teddy got the other man with his switchblade because I heard him grunt, but he still whipped his arm upward and knocked the teddy boy on the side of the head so hard that he went down and didn't get up again.

Breathing hard, the other man walked over to me, where I remained crouched in terror. He had something in his hand. "Miss..." he trailed off.

"Emily," I supplied for him.

"Miss Emily, are you alright?" he knelt in front of me "And is this yours?" He held my shoe out to me and I took it gratefully, slipping it onto my very chilly foot.

"T-thanks-s," I chattered "W-w-why d-did you d-do that?" He looked puzzled for a moment, and I noticed that his eyes were a startling blue. Then his expression cleared.

"Oh. D'you mean, why did I save ya?" I nodded, still shivering violently. "Well, it's quite simple. I didn't want you to die." The full realization of how close to death's door I had come hit me like a brick wall. I started shaking harder, and tears started to course down my face, turning to ice on my cheeks as the bitter wind touched them.

He pulled me into his arms, and then I was crying into the shoulder of a complete stranger. His hold was strong, reassuring, and he smelled good; like wood-smoke and leaves in the fall.

"Shh, it's all right, luv," he murmured into my hair "Yer gonna be alright." Slowly, my sobs lessened and my shivering ceased. I pulled my tearstained face away from his shoulder and sniffed a little.

"'Ere," he said gently "Be a good girl and blow your nose, then." I smiled shakily and took the offered handkerchief, blew my nose, and wiped away my tears. He held out his arm to help me to my feet. As soon as I touched his arm though, he flinched. There was something warm and sticky on my hand. Blood. And not my own. His blood.

I gasped and closely examined his forearm. A gash tore through his jacket, his shirt, and finally his skin.

Oh, my God!" I exclaimed, rifling through my bag for a piece of cloth to slow the bleeding. "'E got you pretty bad, didn't 'e?"

"Looks like it," he grunted a little as I pressed my handkerchief to his arm. "_An' _he got me best shirt, too," he grumbled.

The fact that he was more worried about his ruined shirt than the gash in his arm made me smile a little.

"Do ya have any place to go?" he asked me suddenly.

"Well, no," I responded with some surprise "I'm new here." This was neither true nor false; I had lived on the outskirts of Liverpool all my life, but I had never been into town except for school, and I was expected to come straight home after that. He looked at me, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that all my feelings and emotions were hanging right out in the open for him to see.

"I'm sure me mum's got room fer one more," he said generously.

My eyes popped open wide "I couldn't do that to ya!" I exclaimed "I'm already owin' ya for savin' my life!"

"S'no problem," he waved it off, and I felt as though I had no other choice but to accept his offer. We walked in silence for a long bit. "If ya don't mind my askin'," he said slowly "Wot in bloody 'ell were ya doin' wanderin' around the nastiest neighborhood in Liverpool this late?"

I'm new here, like I said, so I don't know much about the neighborhoods, or what's in 'em." I still couldn't discern whether this statement was true or false.

He grimaced "I grew up around 'ere. Trust me, it's not a good place to be in, especially at night." He looked at me again, and I felt the uncomfortable feeling of being X-rayed by his eyes again. "Why did you run away from 'ome?" he asked quietly "No, wait, lemme guess. Parent troubles got to be too much for ya?" I opened my mouth in outrage, how dare he make such a bold assumption! But I closed it again at the expression on his face.

"How did ya know?" I asked quietly, looking into his earnest blue eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm psychic," he declared, tapping the side of his head with a mock self-important look on his face that made me laugh, despite the incredibly touchy subject that had just come up. "Nah, not really. Ya just 'ad that expression on yer face. Y'know, the sad, 'urt an' lost expression? Plus," he added "Why else would ya 'ave a bag that looks like it's got all yer belongings in it?" I sighed in resignation, _damn my obliviousness to detail. _

"Alright, fine. I _am _runnin' away, but I figure I'm old enough to make it on me own, bein' over 18 an' all."

"Why?" he asked softly, touching my hand.

"I'll tell ya, but" I looked at him "What's yer name? I've been talkin' to ya for awhile now an' I don't know yer name."

You're tryin' to distract me!" He accused "But I suppose 'tis only fair. My born name is Richard Starkey. Me mum calls me Ritchie, an' to me friends an' the rest of England, me name's Ringo. Ringo Starr. I stopped dead in the middle of the street.

"Ringo Starr, the drummer for the Beatles? _That _Ringo?" My eyes were practically popping out of my head, my friend Maureen and I had gone to see them perform a few months ago and Maureen couldn't seem to stop talking about Ringo. I couldn't stop talking about _any _of them.

"Do you know any other Ringos?" he asked with a chuckle. I suddenly felt quite stupid.

"Shuddup!" I lightly whacked his shoulder. He looked at me expectantly. "Oh, right," I said, subdued "My story." I took a deep breath "Well, me dad drinks. A bloody lot. An' when he drinks, he gets a bit…abusive. He'd hit me an' my brothers an' sometimes me mum, but only if he was _really_ drunk. Me mum, well, she could only take so much. One night she left without so much as a goodbye to any of us. I got a letter from 'er about a month after. She met a nice guy prior to her leavin' an' ran of with 'im to get married. I wanted to go to school to get a college degree, but 'e made me stay 'ome an' take care of 'im when he 'ad splittin' 'eadaches from his frequent hangovers.

"Me brothers left as soon as they could. One night, I couldn't take it anymore an' I left. That was two nights ago. Now, I'm 'ere." Hot tears stung the corners of my eyes, much to my dismay.

"Oh, wow," Ringo said quietly "Small wonder ya ran away, luv. I'm glad ya did, though." He squeezed my hand gently.

"Why is that?" I asked in a small voice that quavered.

"Cos I never would've met you if ya hadn't," we stopped in front of a rather small, but cheery all the same, house with a few lights on.

"Well, this is me 'ouse," Ringo said, clearly embarrassed a bit about the size "It's not much, but-" I put a finger to his lips.

"Shh," I whispered "It's perfect." It was better than any house I'd ever been to or lived in. Not because of the size, but because of the love radiating from it.

Ringo rapped lightly on the door a few times and a motherly looking woman opened the door. She had the same endearing face with twinkling blue eyes that Ringo did.

"'Ello Ritchie!" she exclaimed with a wide smile, pulling her son into a hug, "Wot a lovely surprise!" I noticed that Ringo pulled his arm away from her back slightly, apparently not wanting his mum to worry about him. I didn't blame him, I would've done the same thing had it been me in his place.

"An' who's this lovely young lass? I don't remember her from yer school friends."

Ringo put an arm around my shoulders "Mum, this is Emily. She just needs a place to stay until she gets back on 'er feet again."

"Oh, well, the more the merrier!" Mrs. Starkey exclaimed, shaking my hand "My goodness, it certainly is cold out there. How would you two like a cup of 'ot cocoa?"

"Mm, that sounds fantastic!" I said with feeling. I hadn't had a cup of hot cocoa since my mum had left, in other words, years.

"Well, go sit in the livin' room an' I'll be right back." She bustled into the kitchen, humming merrily. I was amazed at how calm, happy, and just, well, _normal_ Ringo's house was. Of course, it was probably the norm for a house to be like this, I just wouldn't know.

"Ringo, yer mum's so nice!" I whispered.

"She's a great mum." He whispered back "Do me a tiny favor and don't mention my tiny injury to 'er, okay? I don't want 'er to cause a scene an' fuss."

"You've got my solemn word," I said "Y'know, I can fix the tears in yer jacket an' shirt an' mend yer arm if ya want."

"If it's not too much trouble to ya," he said.

"Not a problem at all. I've mended quite a few things in my nineteen years." I thought of all the shirts, pants, and flesh that my dad had ripped in bar fights over the years. I had never tried to keep track, because every night it happened all over again.

"You're nineteen, huh?" he asked. I nodded "One of me best mates is nineteen. 'E's a real nice bloke." At this point Ringo's mum came back into the room with two steaming mugs of cocoa on a tray.

"'Ere you are," she set the tray down "I'm proper knackered, so will you show Emily to 'er room, Ritchie?"

"Sure mum," Ringo said "Sweet dreams." She kissed his forehead, patted my arm, and headed upstairs. I sipped my cocoa silently, enjoying the warm sweetness. I hardly knew Ringo or his family, but I felt right at home here.

"So," Ringo attempted to break the silence. It wasn't awkward yet, but it was bound to if the quiet went on any longer. "Wot was yer favorite class in school?" I had to think really hard about that one. All thoughts of education for me had been extinguished when my dad made me stay home and keep house after I graduated.

"Oh, probably English. I love writin' of all sorts. Stories, reports or poems, it doesn't much matter to me." I kept a regular diary, sometimes it was the only thing that saved my brain from imploding due to thought overload. "What about you?"

"Well, I don't really know. I didn't like school very much, and I was out a lot because I was sick. Once, I came back to school an' 'ad to bring a note saying that I 'ad gone to the school before an' that I 'ad been sick. The 'eadmaster said, 'No, you never went to this school.' I said, 'Yes I did. I've just been sick an awful lot, sir.' When I finally got over all my illnesses, I couldn't really learn very well, so I got a job as an engineer. I was with Rory Storm an' the Hurricanes for a bit. They 'elped me come up with me stage name, on account of the rings I wear. I ended up with the Beatles when their producer wanted some better drummin' talent."

"Gee, that sounds like a proper big bit of no fun," I said, frowning. And I thought _I _had it hard! "'Cept for the drummin'. D'you like playin' the drums?"

He brightened visibly, and I could see his love for the instrument light up his brilliantly blue eyes. "I love it! Course, I taught meself 'ow to play. I'm left-'anded, so I 'ave to play me right-'anded set backwards. Can't do a drum roll to save me life, so I improvise a lot." I'd heard him play a couple times, Mo and I were huge fans of Rory Storm and the Hurricanes, as well as we were fans of the Beatles, and I loved his big-beat playing style.

"Well, I like yer playin' style. It's unique and fun to listen to," I said truthfully. I just wished they'd let him sing more. He had a good voice.

He grinned and chuckled a little "I'll take yer opinion to 'eart. Ya seem like a smart girl."

I denied the compliment "Hardly. You done with yer 'ot cocoa?" He nodded and I took our cups to the kitchen and poured a little hot water in them so they'd be easier to scrub out come morning. I came back and Ringo led me to the bathroom and showed me the cupboard where his mum kept all her first aid supplies.

"D'you want me to fix yer clothes or you first?" I asked.

He pondered this for a moment "Me," he decided "Me arm 'urts like 'ell." I glanced at the awful gash and realized just how far up it was on his arm. There was no way he could just roll up his sleeve without causing further damage.

"You'll 'ave to take off both yer shirt an' jacket so I can get at the cut properly." I blushed as I said it, feeling quite awkward about the whole thing. He shrugged, seemingly unperturbed about it, and slid the jacket off. He then unbuttoned his shirt and carefully pulled it off to avoid doing himself any further injury.

It took all my carefully mustered self-control not to ogle at his muscular torso. I felt that it mightn't be appropriate for such thoughts to be entering my brain at a time like this.

I mixed a little rubbing alcohol and water together in a bowl and soaked a cotton ball with it in preparation for cleaning the wound. "This might 'urt a bit," I warned as I daubed at his gash, biting my lip as I felt him struggle not to flinch and upset me. Next, I took a piece of gauze and pressed it lightly on the gash. To make it stay in place, I bound a piece of cloth over it and tied it off so it wouldn't slip off his arm. Such abrasions were routine for me, and I tried not to think about the many times I'd done nearly the same thing for my father. I just didn't warn him about the sting and wasn't gentle about it. It's not exactly like he felt it; he was either too drunk or hungover to feel much of anything.

Ringo examined his dressing appreciatively "Nice job you did 'ere, luv," he said, patting my hand. "I don't think it'll show under my shirts, either." I smiled uncertainly, flattered, but a little self-conscious; I wasn't used to copious flattery, or _any_ flattery at all for that matter.

"You're welcome. Do ya happen to know where yer mum keeps 'er sewing kit?" He turned around, reached up into a cabinet, and came back to face again with a small box in his hands.

"'Ere ya go. Why don't we go in my room so you can see better," he suggested, leading me across the hallway into a small, comfortable looking room. He sat on his bed, and I sat on a chair that was under a lamp so I could see what I was doing. Again, minor rips and tears were pretty mundane work for me; God only knew how many I'd mended for my pitiful excuse of a father.

I finished fairly quickly and handed them to him. "Yer gonna want to wash these in cold water so the blood stains'll come out," I said.

Ringo took them and slung them over the back of his desk chair. "Noted," he replied "Well, if it's not too weird, the only other bed in the house is over there," he pointed to a bed in the other corner of the room that I hadn't noticed previously. It was small, but my bed at my house was much smaller.

"No, that's just fine," I said, picking up my bag and walking over to the door so that I could exit "I'm gonna go change." I went into the bathroom to change into my white nightgown with blue flowers scattered over it. Knowing that not brushing my hair before bed was absolutely murder in the morning, I ran a brush through it quickly and brushed my teeth. When I went back across the hallway, Ringo's door was shut, and my assumption was that he was changing.

I knocked on the door, as not doing so before entering would probably be both embarrassing and rather rude. "Ya decent?" I called through the door. Apparently, Ringo found this last statement most amusing, because muffled laughter floated through the door before the handle turned and he opened the door to let me in.

"Thanks," I said, setting my bag at the foot of my temporary bed. Suddenly, I was overcome by a wave of drowsiness. "Well, I'd love to stay up and chat longer, but I'm knackered." I crawled under the covers of the bed and snuggled down, nearly unable to keep my eyes open for another second. "Goodnight, Ringo."

He smiled from his perch on his bed, "Goodnight, Emily." The last thing I saw before I drifted off to sleep was Ringo's gentle face.

**Ringo's POV**

It didn't take long for Emily to fall asleep, and it wasn't exactly surprising, given what the poor girl had been through. Being somewhat of an insomniac, a condition no doubt sprung from my extensive time spent in the hospital, I sat up and stared stared at this girl who had so unexpectedly crashed into my life.

Her wavy, auburn hair with lighter red highlights was strewn over her pillow in a messy halo around her head. Bright green eyes, now veiled by her eyelids, were expressive and provided a clear window to her emotions. The only emotions I had been able to detect thus far were fear and sadness. Even when she laughed, it couldn't dispel the deep sadness in her eyes.

She was really quite petite, only standing about '5"3 she was just delicate in general. How she survived so long with an abusive father without suffering a serious injury that would leave her permanently disfigured, or worse, dead, I didn't know. I shook my head at the thought. I hardly knew the girl, and yet she occupied nearly every thought that was in my head. I was worried about her, she was shy and quiet all the time and didn't accept compliments very well, which led me to believe that she wasn't telling me her full story. Then again, why should she? Spilling your guts to a perfect stranger wasn't something that most people did.

A little groan escaped my lips when I looked at the clock and noticed how late it was; I had practice with the band in the morning, and it was nearly suicide to turn up late and have John find out about it. Strict disciplinarian, that one was.

I took a last look at her sleeping form and allowed myself to be washed away on the tides of sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

After having the best sleep I had had in years, I woke with tiny beams of sunlight striking my face. No nightmares that woke me up screaming and sweating bullets was always a plus. I yawned and rolled over to look at the clock, 8:00 am. This was a new personal record for me, as my father would have been yelling for me to get an aspirin or something else to alleviate his splitting headache around 5:30 or 6. Either that or I'd be cleaning up vomit at four in the morning, or rolling out of bed at a phone call from a bar that was somewhere within a 20 mile radius asking me if my father was a Mr. Scott and if so would I please come get him as he had gotten into yet another bar fight or public indecency of some sort. It was absolutely fantastic to awaken under my own free will.

Stretching luxuriously, I rolled out of bed and looked over to where Ringo still lay asleep. He was sprawled helter-skelter across the bed, the blankets were tangled up around him in a crazy mess. His face was soft with sleep, his mouth slightly slack. The shirt and jacked that I had mended the night before were still slung over the back of his desk chair. I picked up my bag opened the door to Ringo's room.

I went into the bathroom and decided that now would be a good time to get the layer of grime that had settled on my skin from being on the streets for two days. I was still cold, which I suppose could only be expected as I had been wandering the streets of Liverpool for two days in the middle of winter. I shimmied out of my nightgown and stepped into the shower. I turned the water up to full heat and allowed myself to stand there for several minutes under the hot water before shampooing my hair and washing my body. I winced a little as the washcloth passed over a particularly tender bruise on my back. I shut the water off and snagged a towel from the hanger before stepping out of the shower. When the cold air hit my exposed, damp skin I shivered. I dried off and picked out a dress to wear. It was a dark, navy blue with a light blue ribbon accentuating the waist. The sleeves covered three quarters of my arms. I pulled a brush through my medium-length, red hair with some difficulty; it was really quite thick and the tangles were terrible to get through at times. _Nope, _way_ too lazy for makeup today,_ I thought and left my makeup bag sitting untouched in my bag. Sadly, hindsight is always 20/20 and hindsight said that I should have at least used some concealer on my healing bruises on my face the way I had yesterday. I swirled my toothbrush around in my mouth and packed up my toiletries bag once again.

My dress from the previous night was understandably filthy, taking into consideration all that it had been through. On a whim, I remembered that Ringo's shirt and jacket were still bloodstained, and I dashed quietly back into the bedroom and grabbed them off his chair so I could wash them for him. I was halfway out the door before I realized that I didn't make my bed, so I hastily tiptoed back into the room and made it look presentable.

As soon as my foot touched the first stair, it let out a creak and I yanked it back. I spent a few seconds contemplating a route down the stairs that wouldn't wake Ringo up, he looked so peaceful. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of sliding down the railing, but I touched it and it moved up and down threateningly and I nixed that notion. Finally, I managed to slip down the stairs with many pauses to test out a stair that looked suspiciously like it would squeak.

When I got to the kitchen at last, my stomach grumbled thunderously. I started toward the refrigerator, and then remembered that I had laundry in my hand. _Laundry first, food later, _I reluctantly reminded myself and headed off in search of the laundry machine. Thankfully, it wasn't hard to find or start, and I was soon back in the kitchen, much to the relief of my empty stomach.

I set two frying pans on the cooktop and cracked a few eggs into one of them. To my delight, I discovered some bacon in the refrigerator and set a few strips in the other pan and they began to sizzle merrily. Keeping an eye on the eggs and bacon, I hunted down the coffee and started a pot brewing. I'd started drinking coffee when I was seventeen, and since the sugar and cream was the express property and privilege of my father, I drank it black. The eggs were just about done when a voice drifted through the open doorway.

"You didn't 'ave to make breakfast dear," Mrs. Starkey stood in the doorway with a motherly smile on her face, blue eyes twinkling. I jumped about three feet in the air and narrowly stifled a yelp of surprise.

"Oh, good mornin' Mrs. Starkey," I said "It's no problem, really. I enjoy cooking."

"Well, thank you. I've gotta run off to work, so give Ritchie my love," in response to my questioning look, she added "I usually eat when I get to work, don't worry about me. Y'know," she paused "I'm surprised you slept this long. Ritchie snores like a proper bulldozer most nights." she laughed. I hadn't heard a thing all night, which led me to believe that I was a much sounder sleeper than I had originally thought.

"Well, either last night was a rare exception, or I was _really_ knackered," I said with a smile. She patted my arm. I almost started choking up, God, how I missed little exchanges like this with my mum. _Get a grip,_ I firmly told myself.

"I'm off, then. Have a lovely day, dear." the door gently swung closed and I was left once again in the peaceful quiet of the kitchen.

**Ringo's POV**

Stupid. Sun. Go. _Away. _These were my first thoughts upon awakening to tiny beams of sunlight rudely beating upon my face. Through sleep-blurred eyes, I looked at the clock saw that it was 8:30. With a reluctant groan I rolled out of bed and stretched, rumpling my bed head even more. The amazing smells of coffee, eggs, and sizzling bacon wafted over me, making my mouth water. Suddenly, waking up didn't seem half so bad. _Mum can't be cooking, she has work, _I thought. _Must be Emily. _I happened to glance over at the guest bed, and saw that it was made, and very well, too. An idea glimmered at the edge of my consciousness, but I brushed it away. There was a distinct chance that it wouldn't work.

Nearly floating on the delicious smells that indicated breakfast, I made my way into the kitchen. Emily stood at the stove, putting bacon and eggs onto two plates, and pouring coffee into two separate mugs. Her red hair shone slightly in the sunlight, and she had on a navy blue dress that came to just below her knees. I stepped forward and brushed my hand against some papers by accident and she turned to see me. Her eyes popped open wide and she burst into a peal of laughter. I was absolutely baffled; what on Earth was so funny?

"What?" I asked in a puzzled tone "Are my pajamas really so amusin'?" she leaned against a chair for support, and drew heaving breaths that were occasionally punctuated by explosions of laughter as she attempted to compose herself.

"N-no, no, i-it's-" she burst out laughing again "S-sorry Ringo, haha, it's just that your hair looks so, so-" she couldn't go on.

Suddenly, I felt extremely self-conscious and peered at my reflection into one of the burnished pots that was hanging from the ceiling and discovered that she was right; my hair was sticking up in every direction imaginable. It looked wild. In fact, it looked so ridiculous that I started to laugh a little. Emily was trying to calm herself enough to act somewhat normally, and I was discreetly trying to smooth down my hair so I didn't resemble a lion so much. You'd think I would've taken a few extra seconds to make sure I looked at least somewhat presentable.

Finally, our giggles subsided enough to sit down at the kitchen table to start on breakfast. Her cooking was fantastic. "Wow, this is really great!" I exclaimed in a burst, after finishing a plateful in what seemed like record time, even for me. I'm not sure if I even took a breath while eating that first plate.

"Thanks," she said, looking a bit surprised at my praise. Perhaps she was surprised at my voracious appetite though, I couldn't tell. She filled another plate for me and I took a sip of my coffee. I scrunched up my nose. It was black, no sugar or cream.

She looked at my "ick" face and giggled "Oops, sorry about that. I forget that most people don't like their coffee black." she reached for a few lumps of sugar and dropped them in my cup, and poured a little cream in. She sipped hers.

"Ya like yers black?" I asked.

"Never 'ad anything to put in it, but to tell ya the truth, I like it this way." the laundry machine—which I previously had no idea was even running—buzzed, and she jumped up to go put the contents in the dryer.

"Sorry about that," she said upon returning to the table "My dress was in a right state, an' yer shirt and jacket were a bit messy as well, so I put them in the wash."

_Does laundry, makes beds, cooks, mends... Aha!_ I thought. My idea would work, if she accepted, that is.

"S'no problem, thanks a bunch, actually," I said, taking another sip of my coffee. "I've got rehearsal today," I said casually, not letting on to my idea just yet "D'you want to stay 'ere or come along? If ya come though," I warned "The rest of the guys, especially John, they're shameless flirts." She toyed with the idea for a bit, it was apparent that she didn't like the idea of having to fend off hopeless flirts. Slowly though, she came to a decision.

"Well," she said slowly "Y'know, that sounds gear!" she exclaimed "I'd love to, and I promise, no fangirl antics." she held up her hand and made a serious face.

I scraped the last bits of eggs off my plate. "Are ye done?" I asked, picking up my dishes and reaching for hers. She beat me to it, though and picked them up.

"Uh-huh," she said, walking over to the sink "I'll wash an' you dry."

"Nope," I disagreed "Since it's my 'ouse, I'll wash an' _you_ dry."

She faked a look of horror "But then yer 'ands will get all pruney! You can't drum with pruney 'ands!"

"I'm sure I'll get by," I said with a laugh "but the boys won't want to kiss a wrinkly 'and!" she sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Who says I'm gonna let 'em?" she asked, scoffing "An' I've been doin' dishes for so long, I don't think me 'ands even _get_ wrinkly anymore!"

"Well, let's not take that chance. It's settled. _I'm _washing, _you're_ drying."

She shook her head in resignation "Fine, but don't come whinin' to me when ye' can't 'old the drumsticks properly!"

We got done fairly quickly, even with her sending a few plates back to me with a, "Ya missed a spot 'ere, 'ere, and 'ere!" and me giving a tortured sigh. I _really_ hated doing the dishes. She reached up and adjusted the curtain that hung above the window that went out over the backyard. I noticed mottled bruises up her arms and on her face. Taking a quick peek down revealed a few more on her legs. She tossed her hair over the shoulder farthest from me and I saw the thing that worried me most, a half-healed and very painful looking gash that was just above her ear. It appeared as though someone had hit her with a frying pan, or something else that weighed about as much.

_Who could've... her father, _I thought and felt faintly ill. It was absolutely horrifying to me, the idea that someone could do that kind of damage to someone that they were related to, never mind their own child!

"Ringo... Oi! Ringo, snap out of it!" she waved a hand in my face and I realized that I'd been in a daze. I started and shook my head.

"Sorry," I said, running a hand through my hair "I'm still waking up." it was an out and out lie, and she knew it. She studied my face closely.

"Are ya sure that's what it is?" she asked, peering at my face "Ya look a touch green. Did ya eat too much?" her eyes filled with concern. The fact that she was worried about my state of being made it even harder to ask the question I asked next.

I sucked in a deep breath "Emily, who gave you those bruises?" Her eyes flew open with surprise.

**Emily's POV**

_Damn it, I knew I should've put some concealer on my face, at least, _I thought. I tried to keep my facial expression normal, but my eyes popped open at the sound of the one question that I, with all my heart and soul, did not want to answer.

I struggled to come up with an acceptable answer that wouldn't exactly tell the truth "Did ya not see me get tossed around last night? _That's _what these are from!" my voice was light and airy, but those blue eyes saw right through my cover-up.

Ringo took my face between his hands and examined it "They can't be. These bruises are healin' already, and unless yer a superhero or somethin' like that, there's no way in 'ell that they could be," In one swift move he brushed my hair away from my ear to reveal the wound that had the most frightening story behind it "An' there's _no_ way 'e could've 'it ya this 'ard for ya to still be conscious when I got to ya. So who did this? An' _don't_ tell me that it was an accident." he finished in a deadly quiet voice.

I wasn't ready to tell this story, not yet, and I knew for a fact that Ringo wasn't ready to hear it "Me dad," my voice shook "'E's the one who could do something like this." My voice broke on the word _this._ "I'm not ready to tell this story, not yet," I whispered, hating how small and fragile my voice sounded in my ears "Go get ready, I'll entertain myself until then."

"Okay, I won't be too long," he said, turning to the stairs and preparing to go up. At the last second he whirled around and pulled me into a firm, yet gentle hug. At any other time, I would've shrieked and shoved the offender off me, but the most I did was stiffen in surprise. After a moment though, I melted into his reassuring embrace. I didn't know why he was hugging me, but I didn't really care.

He put his mouth to my ear and whispered "Don't worry about all the dark clouds in yer life, luv. The sun will break through soon enough," He pulled away a little, kissed my forehead, and headed up the stairs to go get ready. I still stood there in a state of frozen shock; I couldn't string together a single, coherent thought for the life of me. A deluge of thoughts tumbled through my head, making pretty much every normal capability impossible.

And then, one impossible thought drifted through my head; _What on Earth is going on? _

It took a few minutes, but I was finally able to get my brain into a semblance of working order that allowed me to go around the house and clean a few things, taking care to put everything exactly where I found it.

Shortly, Ringo came back down the stairs, he was dressed in a white shirt, black slacks, and had a jacket and tie slung over his shoulder. "Ya ready to go, luv?" he asked, smiling at me. I tentatively smiled back, putting on my coat and grabbing my bag.

"Yeah, I'm ready," I said. He coughed somewhat awkwardly and looked at me as though he had a thought he wished to express waiting at the tip of his tongue. I looked at him and tilted my head as though to imply a silent, _What?_

"Uh, well, the thing is-" he fumbled for the right words "D'you, um, know how to tie a tie?" he mumbled, clearly embarrassed. I laughed and tied it for him, secretly relieved that it wasn't a more awkward question.

"C'mon, let's go," he said, walking out the door and holding it open for me. I stepped out of it, wondering what these three other boys that made up a band called the Beatles were like.


	4. Chapter 4

**Emily's POV**

Ringo opened the car door for me, and then ran around to the other side and jumped in. For a time, we rode in silence. The only sound in the car was Ringo's hands tapping the steering wheel in a pattern.

"Hey, Ringo?" I said tentatively, breaking the silence "Wot are the other boys like? Are they as nice as you?" he laughed, blushing a little and paused in his tapping of the steering wheel.

"They're all real nice blokes. I guess that doesn't 'elp ya much. Lemme try an' describe 'em. John, 'e's a really nice fella. Not that 'e shows that side much. Sometimes, well, he can be a bit obnoxious, fer lack of a better word. Just a word of advice, if 'e's angry, even if it's not directed at ya stay out of 'is way." I looked at him in confusion, didn't he just say that John was nice?

"Is there any particular reason fer that?" I asked. Ringo grimaced, and I was pretty sure I wasn't going to get an answer.

"Fer yer sake, let's 'ope that ya never 'ave to find out," he said, giving the distinct impression that the topic was closed. "Let's see 'ere, Paul, he's a really swell guy. One of the nicest you'd ever meet. Unfortunately, 'e's an _awful_ flirt. Charmin', sure, but sometimes overly charmin'." He rolled his eyes with a laugh.

"Uh, an' George, 'es a quiet one when he's not in a place 'e's familiar with. When we're in the studio or somethin' like that, e's a proper chatterbox. Never shuts up sometimes, that one," he chuckled fondly, clearly these boys were like brothers.

"Sounds just like ye," I said with a smirk. Ringo furrowed his brows in confusion "Y'know, _chatterbox,_" I grinned. He placed a hand over his heart and if we'd been standing up he would've been staggering around like he'd been mortally wounded.

"'Ey!" he exclaimed "I'm not a chatterbox!" I chuckled at his goofy antics.

"The only person ya might 'ave to worry about for some time would be our manager, Brian Epstein. Once 'e warms to ye it's alright, but till then," he shudders "It ain't pretty. He's a real professional type, that one. On a schedule all day," Ringo drew himself up to his fullest hight and puffed out his chest "Let's see here, dear me, I don't know if I'll 'ave time to do this and this, it might interfere with my schedule, don't want to be late!" he dithered in a posh falsetto. He looked ridiculous, I couldn't help but laugh. When our giggling subsided, he said, "I don't want ya to get the wrong impression of 'im, he's nice when you get to know 'im."

"Okay, Ringo. I won't make any snap judgments," I said "But I 'ope fer all yer sakes that that was an exaggeration."

Ringo resumed his tapping of the steering wheel, "Just a bit," he replied. A few minutes later, we pulled up to a house.

"We usually all stay 'ere, but I wanted to visit me mum before we leave on tour," he explained. He jumped out of the car and ran around to my side of it to open my door and let me out. The house, at least from the outside, had an air of chaos. Fun chaos, but chaos just the same. Considering that four young men usually resided there, it wasn't exactly a shock.

Ringo bounded up the sidewalk and the stairs and stood on the stoop waiting for me, his breath misting in the crisp, cold air. I, however, took my sweet time getting there as there were several patches of ice on the sidewalk and I had no desire whatsoever to go sprawling flat on the ground. Once I reached him, he opened the door for me and we stepped inside the entryway.

"I'm gonna go make sure the guys are, er, _decent_ enough to meet ya," Ringo said, heading up the stairs. "I won't be too long." Voices filtered down from the upper level of the house.

"Oi! Paulie, d'you know how to tie a tie?" a voice shouted from one side of the upstairs. From the other side, a sigh was just barely audible.

"No! I didn't yesterday or the days before that, so why should I now?" came the impatient reply "Ask Geo, I think 'e knows 'ow-" another voice answered the second one from somewhere down on the first level of the house, presumably the kitchen.

"No, I don't!" the muffled shout suggested that it's owner was presently stuffing his face with food.

Someone upstairs seemed to notice Ringo's presence "Hullo, Rings? Where'd you come from?" Greetings were exchanged and the owner of the voice in the kitchen came into the entryway, most likely to go greet Ringo. He was tall, skinny, and handsome. He also was wearing nothing but a towel. I gaped at him, but managed to wrestle a somewhat normal expression onto my now flaming scarlet face by the time he realized that he wasn't alone. His eyes popped open wide and his ears turned red.

"I—ah—oh" he stammered and dashed up the stairs with an iron grip on his towel, ensuring that this embarrassing scene didn't get suddenly ten times more so. I stood there dumbly.

_Well, that's one for the record book, _I thought wryly, _I've just seen a half-naked Beatle._

The owner of the kitchen-voice had evidently reached the other boys " Lads! There's a bird downstairs! A bloody bird! And she sorta... saw me... like this..." he trailed off. A moment of stunned silence was followed by shouts of laughter. This went on for some time, occasionally punctuated by kitchen-voice's feeble attempts to tell them that it really wasn't all that funny, and that they wouldn't be laughing if they were in his place.

Once the laughing subsided, the first voice spoke, "Well, that's a new one. Christ, security really is slippin'! Birds comin' in an' out as they please, we'll never 'ave another peaceful moment!" he exclaimed.

The voice that had been dubbed "Paulie" spoke next, "I'm not sure why yer complainin', Lennon. This seems to be right up yer alley. A constant stream of birds comin' in an' out of 'ere would be right convenient for ya, it would!" an indignant exclamation followed this statement and a few whacking sounds could be heard.

"'Ey, that's enough of that!" Ringo's voice emanated from upstairs, and I could imagine him wading into the middle of the little spat "Let's not dismember each other before noon, alright? After that, I don't care, but it ain't proper to kill band mates in the mornin." Chuckles came from the two boys after Ringo made this comment, and it appeared that the crisis was averted. "Besides," Ringo continued "She's not any random bird. I brought 'er over 'ere, I want you all to meet 'er," he paused before adding "Oh, an' George? Ye might wanna put some real clothes on before we go downstairs, yeah?" hoots of laughter and teasing came from the boys again. I was amazed at their cheeriness, a drunk father and two brothers who were somber as the grave while protecting me from him didn't exactly have a whole lot of time to crack a smile, much less a joke.

A few minutes later footsteps came thundering down the steps. Four grinning faces partially hidden underneath moptops met mine. One of them was clearly the leader, he appeared to be the most relaxed.

"Rings, y'never told us ya 'ad a bird of yer own!" he drawled, a lazy smirk playing at the corners of his mouth "Shame on ya fer not tellin'!" Ringo and I simultaneously blushed and denied being together, which of course only made them look knowingly at us.

"She's not my bird, John!" Ringo exclaimed "I only just met 'er last night..." too late Ringo realized that this was a loaded statement and could be taken in more than one way. Sadly, the damage was done; the boy with sleepy, hazel eyes grinned widely at this chance to make a perverted comment.

"Well, y'know that makes all the difference! What'd you two get up to last night?" he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the two of us and Ringo attempted to dig us out of this ever deepening hole that we were now in.

"It wasn't... really... like that..." he mumbled and apparently that was where his ability to explain halted. He looked to me pleadingly for continuance of this explanation.

"Oh fer goodness sakes!" I exclaimed in annoyance "Nothin' like that 'appened at all, I'll tell ya what really happened," I said, and the three others fixated their gazes on my face with such an expression that I got the impression of telling a bedtime story to toddlers.

"I was out on the streets last night when I was cornered by teddy boy. 'E was gonna rape me, but I slapped 'im. He was just about to slit me throat when Ringo 'ere," I gestured to him "Confronted the teddy boy and knocked 'im flat. Ringo then asked if I 'ad any place to go, and when I said no, he offered that I could stay at 'is 'ouse, and I accepted. I slept in the _guest bed_," I emphasized the last two words of my explanation so that there would be no room for any comments that would upset the momentum of my story.

"Well, what do ya know?" hazel-eyed boy said "Rings is a hero!" the boys congratulated him, clapping him on the back and giving words of praise. When this subsided, Ringo appeared to be struck with a sudden thought.

"Where are me manners? I 'aven't done any introductions yet! Emily, meet the Beatles, Beatles, meet Emily," I smiled shyly and waved a little, absolutely clueless as to how to progress in this introduction.

The one that had been called "Lennon" stepped forward "I was wonderin' if yer name was as beautiful as ye, and now I know that no name, no matter how pretty, will ever compare to yer beauty. Pleasure to meet ya, Emily. Me name's John. John Lennon." I offered my hand and he grabbed it and brought it to his lips in a grand gesture of flattery and elegance. Naïve as I was, I was swept right off my feet by his copious compliments. His hair—fashioned into a moptop like the others—was a light auburn color. He was neatly dressed, but gave off the distinct impression that he'd like to be dressed in something a little more sloppy. His eyes were dark brown, and held copious amounts of mischief and anger, but they were guarded by an edge that allowed no one into his heart or mind. This was an odd combination, but not unheard of. He stood like that for a few more seconds.

"'Ey, Johnny! No 'oggin' the bird!" hazel-eyed boy exclaimed, none too subtly shoving John out of the way and taking my hand, "Pleased to meet ya, Emily. Me name's Paul McCartney," he brought my hand to his lips and bowed a little. I'm sure the intended impression was to be grandiose, but the impression that I got was cheesy in the highest. His hair was a darker brown than John's, and his eyes were hazel, they were large and sleepy looking, but were still sharp with wit. He squeezed my hand a little, and I decided that that was overstepping the boundaries of "new acquaintances" just a bit. I gently removed my hand from his.

"The pleasure's all mine," I said with a little smile, trying to silently convey the thought that I felt him to be a little overly charming. He didn't appear to be fazed by it, he just flipped his hair out of his eyes, smiled, and winked at me. _Boys,_ I thought and oppressed the sudden, overwhelming urge to roll my eyes. I managed to stop the urge, but it was a close thing. I focused instead on Paul's eyebrows, and marveled at the ability of my brain to focus on something completely unrelated and random when I didn't feel like dealing with the present situation. _There's no _way_ his eyebrows are that perfect with out plucking, _I thought.

Towel-boy had been entirely silent up to this point. I held out my hand and he shook it, and I was secretly thankful for his more modest approach to these introductions "Nice to meet ya, Emily," he said softly "Me name's George," his hair was the darkest of the four, almost black and his eyes were a deep, warm, chocolate brown. They were set under a pair of bushy eyebrows that looked much more natural than those of Paul. His eyes flickered briefly to my arm, and then my face. His eyebrows contracted for the most fleeting of instants, but I knew that he'd seen my bruises.

Perhaps Ringo noticed this little display, perhaps not, but his intervention could hardly have come at a better time "'Ey, lads? Could I talk to you in the kitchen for a minute?" he inquired "Sorry Emily, this shouldn't take a long time," somehow, I knew they would be talking about me.

"That's just fine, I can wait here," I said, and sat down on the bench next to the coatrack.

They walked into the kitchen and gently closed the door behind them.

**John's POV**

__This bird wasn't like most I'd met. Some of it, like the fact that she hadn't tried to rip out our hair or clobbered us in hysterics, I didn't mind much. It was sort of a nice change, to be honest. But there were some distinctly odd things about her. Like the fact that her stormy green eyes never smiled. Not even when her mouth did. They were completely shut off to the world, allowing no one in. She was pretty, that was certain. Unfortunately, no one could get close to her, which is sort of necessary when one finds a person attractive, as I found her.

**Ringo's POV**

The door swung shut and I turned to face the other boys "So, what did you fellas think of 'er?" I posed the question to all of them. Surprisingly, George spoke up first.

"Well, it was sorta 'ard to tell what she was like, exactly. She 'ardly said a word the entire time an' 'er eyes were really closed off and shut down. I wonder why?" he paused "And how the 'ell did she get all those bruises?" I took a moment to mentally thank God for George's perceptiveness.

Paul spoke up, "Geo's right. She had this look in 'er eyes like she'd seen a lot of sadness in 'er life and wasn't about to let anyone else in, like she was afraid of bein' 'urt again. No girl that young should've seen that much pain in life to be like that!" he declared. Paul was right, but I wondered about the necessity of his dramatic nature. We needed more drama in our lives about as much as we needed a hole in the head.

"You fellas are both right," John said quietly, shocking the heck out of all of us in the process. John admitting someone was right? This was almost unheard of until now. I think the rest of us realized at about the same time that John knew more about pain than just about anyone else. His mum, his best friend, and his uncle had all died during his life, and his father wasn't exactly a huge part of his life as a kid, and still wasn't for that matter. Yes, John Lennon knew about all sorts of pain, physical or otherwise.

"Pain, like the kind in 'er eyes," he continued "It 'as to come from someone she knew or knows. How anyone could do that much harm to someone they knew or know is beyond me though," he said, and the expression on his face was nearing murderous. His present mood made it even harder to say what I said next.

"I know who 'urt her," I said tentatively. George's eyes widened, Paul's brows furrowed in confusion, and John's expression was unreadable "When I was talkin' to 'er last night, she said that 'er father is a drunk who would beat her an' her brothers. 'Er mum got sick an' tired of it all, and ran off with some other bloke. After that, 'er brothers left an' Emily's dad made 'er stay 'ome and keep 'ouse. Two nights ago, she ran away, and then I found 'er last night. Whatever happened before that must've been pretty bad to make 'er run away in the middle of winter, I'm willin' to bet one of my drumsticks that it 'as something to do with the bruises that she 'as," three horrified faces stared back at me.

**Paul's POV**

Oh, my God! How could someone do that to their own child? The guarded look in her eyes suggested that she had endured things like this since she was a little girl. I just couldn't believe it, it blew my mind.

**George's POV**

My stomach churned sickeningly when Ringo said that her father had beaten her, her siblings, and her mother when he was drunk. And when he said that she had run away, in the middle of winter, I had to clap my hand under my jaw to ensure that it didn't drop to the floor. Whatever happened must've been serious, you'd have to be extremely desperate to run away during a season as cold as this without assurance of a warm bed and a meal every night.

I glanced over at John and noted that his grip on the table was so tight that he was liable to splinter it if he grabbed it any harder. Ringo noticed this as well, and seemed to be a bit concerned. He was in the right to feel this way; John was making it clear that he would like nothing better than to pound the hell out of her father.

"Now you guys have to _promise_ that you won't mention any of this to 'er. She'll open up to us if she wants to and when she feels comfortable, don't push 'er," he said nervously. I knew I for one wasn't going to be bringing it up. The _last_ thing I wanted to do was make her feel uncomfortable.

When we filed out of the kitchen, I didn't know how to describe it, but she _knew _that we'd been talking about her. "So," she said, "Did ya finish yer incredibly profound debate?" she smiled what was beginning to be her signature didn't-reach-her-eyes smile.

"Yep," John said "Discussed the meaning of life and all that, I think we're startin' to make 'eadway," she laughed at this. John headed out the door, and then stopped short "Ringo? What were ya plannin' to do with 'er? We 'ave rehearsal today, Eppy says it's an important one. I take that to mean that 'e'll murder us if we miss it."

"I was plannin' on bringin' 'er along if it's okay with you fellas," Ringo said, putting on his coat "I was thinkin' we could play a song or two for 'er," we pondered this for awhile.

"Well, does the lady want a show?" Paul asked her, and she nodded eagerly "Well, then 'tis settled. We'll play for 'er!" I thought it was a great idea, but there was the underlying feeling that Brian wasn't going to be pleased at all.

"Who's car are we takin'?" John asked. Ringo waved his keys and John snagged them out of his hand and trotted off to the car. "I call the driver's seat!" he called, skipping down the sidewalk. A moment went by before Ringo came to his senses.

"Oh SHIT!" he yelled, sprinting out the door "NOOO, John! Stay the hell away from me car!" an amusing chase scene ensued. Ringo eventually tackled John and rescued his precious keys.

Emily was laughing with a bemused expression on her face, "I take it John's a bad driver?" Paul's eyes widened and he shook his head.

"The absolute bloody worst," he said.


	5. Chapter 5

Once we were in the car, I found myself in the backseat, squashed in between George and Paul. John had insisted that since he hadn't been allowed to drive, he should at least be able to sit up front. The other boys didn't want me to be squashed but I interfered, saying that I would be fine. John was elated, displaying once again the low maturity levels of men in their twenties.

But now, as we bumped down the road and I wasn't able to move any part of my body to allow myself to become more comfortable, I regretted being mature. It was one of the few times that I did. We hit a particularly significant bump and the jolt resulting was such that the three of us ended up in one big, tangled mess. It was quite embarrassing on all sides of the affair.

We attempted to disentangle ourselves "Sorry," I apologized as my hand bumped Paul's face while we wrestled our limbs apart.

"Well, at least John's fat arse isn't where yours is now," he said, causing me to realize that I was half-sitting on his lap. I hastily scooted away "Me legs would've been crushed!" John scowled at Paul.

"Me arse ain't fat, it's yer thin, bird legs that can't support me wonderfully toned bum!" he said with a smirk and Paul returned the scowl.

"Girls yer both pretty, now shut it!" George said as we pulled up to the studio. The other two jokingly shot him the bird. Ringo and John jumped out of the car immediately, but had to wait a few seconds as we three occupants of the much-too-small-backseat clambered out with agonizing slowness.

"Air!" Paul gasped as he tumbled out "It's a beautiful thing." I laughed at his antics once I was out of the confines of the backseat.

"Ya won't be breathin' it much longer if we don't get in there within the next ten seconds," George said, walking up the sidewalk and through the door. He only just managed to get through the doorway before John and Paul dashed up the steps and got wedged in the doorway, flailing at each other in an attempt to get loose. They looked like a four armed, two-headed monster, laughing and shouting at each other.

"Damn it, Macca, move yer arse!" John shouted, trying to wiggle free. Paul wriggled and twisted, but to no avail.

"If ye 'adn't dashed up 'ere at the same time I did, we would't be in this mess!" Paul chuckled. They pushed against each other, achieving nothing but getting more firmly wedged. Ringo and I looked at each other, silently conveying a plan in seconds. We raced quietly up the walk and shoved the two men. What happened next was completely and utterly unintended; we shoved them a little harder than we had planned, and they both simultaneously became unstuck and went flying forward. They crashed into an unsuspecting George and knocked him down. Both Ringo and I had a lot more momentum than we knew what to do with and we ran into John and Paul. We all fell on top of poor George. A few seconds went by in utter, ringing silence, and then a plaintive, muffled voice spoke up from the bottom of the pile.

"Ouch," said George. We all stared at each other for a moment, and then Ringo giggled. It was all over from there; we all began to laugh so hard that we couldn't have moved, even if we'd wanted to. I gasped for air like a fish out of water and tried to stop laughing if only for the sake of my aching stomach and ribs. My thought process, _stoplaughingstoplaughingstop laughing, _really didn't seem to be working; the tears of mirth just kept rolling down my face.

"Nice to see you're all enjoyin' yourselves," a voice rang out from above us. The boys' laughter ceased immediately and an instinct quelled my own giggles. Something about the voice commanded instant and total attention, even though it wasn't overly loud or forceful. The five of us looked up uneasily to see a man with a stern expression on his face staring down at us. We squirmed under his intense gaze. I could tell that I'd just gotten myself on this man's "trouble" list. _Oops._

"Oh, er, hullo Eppy," said Ringo nervously. A moment passed, and it became apparent that Mr. Epstein was in no mood for pleasantries. Awkwardly, we all scrambled to our feet and followed him in the sort of silence that makes your ears ring. He led us to one of the recording rooms and had us sit on the chairs outside of one of the recording booths.

"Explain," he said curtly, gesturing to me. I sat there under his scrutinization until Ringo quickly launched into a rushed explanation of our adventures and misadventures; my encounter with the teddy boy, my stay at Ringo's house, and my meeting of the three other boys. Mr. Epstein sat impassively throughout the whole thing.

"So, y'see Brain, I couldn't 'ave just left 'er with no place to go!" Ringo finished in a rush "It wouldn't be proper!" he exclaimed with a pleading look in his puppy-dog eyes that was directed at Mr. Epstein.

He remained silent for a minute, thinking about the massive load of information that had just been imparted to him. I didn't blame him; it made _my_ head hurt to hear about it and I was _there._

"This still doesn't explain why she's here, though," he said slowly, still piecing it together "Unless... no, you didn't. Please, tell me you didn't." he turned a pale, sickly shade of white and his eyes widened in apparent understanding. It took me a moment to process what was going on in his brain.

_Oh no, not _this_ again, _I moaned internally. It seemed that Mr. Epstein, who had probably had to deal with problems like this a few times, thought that Ringo and I had done some "horizontal tangoing (for absolute lack of a better phrase) and that I was now pregnant with his child. I guess someone forgot to tell him that it takes just a tad longer than a day to know if you're pregnant when he took human growth and development in school.

"Don't worry, Mr. Epstein," I said, trying to placate him "I know what yer thinkin', and I can promise ye that none of that 'appened." He seemed to take my word for it and let our a huge breath of relief.

His face turned pensive again "But that _still_ doesn't explain why you brought her here. You lads have rehearsal today. We leave tomorrow, y'know," he said. Ringo looked to be on the verge of saying something.

"Eppy, y'know 'ow when we stay at 'otels, the maids usually take somethin' from one or all of our suitcases?" Ringo asked. I quirked a brow at him; where was this coming from? I was under the impression that I was here to hear them play music. What on Earth was he talking about?

"Yes," he said, furrowing his brows and looking just as confused as I know I must have.

"Well, when Emily came to my 'ouse, she mended me shirt an' jacket 'cos the teddy ripped 'em when 'e caught me with 'is knife," here he paused to carefully roll up his sleeve and display his bandaged wound "As you can see, she mended me, too," he chuckled "She can make beds, do laundry, clean, mend, an' cook. If ye were to hire 'er, we wouldn't 'ave to mess about with tryin' to track down shirts, underwear an' the like." I stared at Ringo uncomprehendingly. Me, work for the Beatles? My inner fan girl squealed excitedly, it would be a dream come true! My more practical side pondered the pros and cons of accepting such a job. I'd never have to worry about a place to stay or food, but I'd also be the rubbish newspaper's fodder and subject to the wrath of their many female fans.

Mr. Epstein's brows contracted again in thought "That isn't a bad idea, actually. Of course, I can't force you to do it," he addressed me "The choice is up to you." In the time he had taken to say this, I had made up my mind. I wanted to know what it was like to work for someone who didn't resent me and force me into doing whatever it was that they wanted.

"Well," I gave it mock thought. The boys turned to face me with identical puppy dog expressions. I struggled to keep a straight face.

"Please please please please please please..." they chanted, grinning. I shook my head with a sigh, pretending to be left with no choice.

"Okay, fine!" I shouted in fake exasperation, swiping my hand across their heads to ruffle their hair. They cheered, unperturbed by their mussed coifs "I'll do it," I said, directing my statement at Mr. Epstein. He smiled for the first time since I'd met him and shook my hand.

"That's good to hear, it'll be a nice change of pace not to have to track down all that stuff. They have a tour coming up quite soon, we leave tomorrow in fact," he said "I hope that's not too much in too little time." Ringo was right; once you got past meeting him, Mr. Epstein was quite a nice person.

"No, I don't mind. It's alright," I said.

**John's POV**

Ringo kept that quiet, and evidently not just from us because Emily's eyes nearly popped out of her head when he vocalized his thoughts. Thank God he did though, like the others I was getting pretty sick of coming back to our hotel room only to come to the realization that something was missing from my suitcase. Usually it was my t-shirts or my underwear, sometimes it was odd things, like a can of shaving cream. Once, they stole an entire outfit from Paul. I thought he was going to burst an artery at the loss of his best suit.

Our little chat with Brian appeared to be over, so I got up and sauntered over to my guitar, picking it up and strumming a few notes absentmindedly. The others shortly followed, Paul with his bass, George with his guitar, and Ringo got behind his drums. Emily tentatively walked over to where George was leaning against an amplifier.

"Is this a Rickenbacker?" she asked him, eyeing his guitar. I noticed that for the first time, the walls had come away from her gaze and her eyes sparkled happily. George must have seen this too, for he quelled what was his initial reaction; to run away screaming with his arms wrapped protectively around his precious guitar.

"Yeah," he said in surprise. A girl who knew about guitars and loved them?

Her fingers hovered over the strings until she seemed to realize what she was doing and she snatched them back "I used to have a Rickie," she said wistfully, a faraway look in her green eyes.

I leaned back against the wall, still strumming random chords "Wot 'appened to it?" I winced when I saw the walls slam down over her gaze again. _Shit, I've gotta be more careful about how I say things to her,_ I thought in frustration.

She froze "Let's just say it's not in workin' order anymore," she said quietly, closing the conversation with her tone.

"Well," I said, breaking the silence that was beginning to quickly settle over the room "Are we gonna play, or just stand around an' look pretty? Macca, I know that's what ya do best, but let's play!" Paul rolled his eyes at me and growled playfully.

"Ye stand around pretty well, Johnny," he said thoughtfully "But ya fall down miserably on the pretty part!" he said. Emily laughed at our banter.

"Now," she said "My memory isn't the best, but I do recall a certain promise made to me by four moptopped individuals about some songs being played for me. I 'aven't 'eard a peep of it yet," she said with a solemn face and joking eyes "Am I wrong?"

"You 'eard her lads," I said as we got into our formation "Let's play!" I shouted. Ringo clicked his drumsticks and away we went.

_Love, love me do._

_You know I love you,_

_I'll always be true,_

_So please, love me do._

_Whoa, love me do._

Emily and Brian sat down to listen to me. She tapped her toes and giggled when Paul shook his head and bopped around. Not to be outdone, I pulled a goofy face at her when she looked at me. She stuck out her tongue at me, almost causing me to laugh and screw up the song.

_Love, love me do._

_You know I love you,_

_I'll always be true,_

_So please, love me do._

_Whoa, love me do._

_Someone to love,_

_Somebody new._

_Someone to love,_

_Someone like you._

_Love, love me do._

_You know I love you,_

_I'll always be true,_

_So please, love me do._

_Whoa, love me do._

I really dug into the song and got into it, bouncing up and down to the beat and shaking my head a little. Emily watched me, and I felt this little flutter in the pit of my stomach when I saw that her green eyes were fixed on me. _Where is this coming from?_ I wondered.

_Love, love me do._

_You know I love you,_

_I'll always be true,_

_So please, love me do._

_Whoa, love me do._

_Yeah, love me do._

_Whoa, oh, love me do. _

_whoa ,oh love me do _

_why don'tcha love me do_

We finished with a bang and she stood up to clap. We bowed together, the way Brian had taught us, and tore into the next song, which wasn't ours, but still a lot of fun to play.

_Just let me hear some of that rock and roll music_

_Any old way you choose it_

_It's got a back beat, you can't lose it_

_Any old time you use it_

_It's gotta be rock and roll music_

_If you wanna dance with me_

_If you wanna dance with me_

_I've got no kick against modern jazz_

_Unless they try to play it too darn fast_

_I lose the beauty of the melody_

_Until they sound just like a symphony_

_That's why I go for that that rock and roll music_

_Any old way you choose it_

_It's got a back beat, you can't lose it_

_Any old time you use it_

_It's gotta be rock and roll music_

_If you wanna dance with me_

_If you wanna dance with me_

This song always made my voice a little sore, so I was glad that it was the only one in our upcoming lineup that went this way.

_I took my loved one over across the tracks_

_So she can hear my man awail a sax_

_I must admit they had a rocking band_

_Man, they were blowing like a hurricane_

_That's why I go for that that rock and roll music_

_Any old way you choose it_

_It's got a back beat, you can't lose it_

_Any old time you use it_

_It's gotta be rock and roll music_

_If you wanna dance with me_

_If you wanna dance with me_

_Way down South they had a jubilee_

_The jokey folks they had a jamboree_

_They're drinking home brew from a water cup_

_The folks dancing there are all shook up_

The familiar euphoria of playing my guitar and singing overtook me, and I could feel everything else disappear. The only things that I could see and feel were the song, my guitar, and a pair of green eyes above a smiling mouth. Wait, what?

_And started playing that that rock and roll music_

_Any old time you use it_

_It's got a back beat, you can't lose it_

_Any old time you use it_

_It's gotta be rock and roll music_

_If you wanna dance with me_

_If you wanna dance with me_

_Don't care to hear them play a tango_

_And in the mood they take a mambo_

_It's way to early for a congo_

_So keep a rocking that piano_

_That's why I go for that that rock and roll music_

_Any old time you use it_

_It's got a back beat, you can't lose it_

_Any old time you use it_

_Gotta be rock and roll music_

_If you wanna dance with me_

_If you wanna dance with me_

We finished with a big bang and I added a little flourish on the last note. Emily got to her feet to applaud, and Brian gave us an approving nod. My heart leapt when I made eye contact with her. _What the hell is wrong with me? _I thought. _Am I really falling in love with someone I just met a few hours ago?_


	6. Chapter 6

**John's POV**

"So?" I asked, setting my guitar down "What'd ye think? Did we fulfill our obligation to ya?" she tapped her chin, appearing to be in deep thought. She kept this up for awhile until I was sure that I was going to burst if she didn't tell us what she thought. I'd never sought someone's opinion so much until now; most of the time I was an I-don't-give-two-shits-what-you-think sort of guy.

"Hmm, you were pretty good, but-" my eyes snapped open. What'd we do? Did we hit some chords wrong, did we miss a note or five, were we singing flat—Emily caught my panicked expression and smirked "-good isn't the word to describe ya 'cos you were absolutely fantastic! I do wish you'd let me finish me thoughts before ya make any snap judgments, Mr. Lennon," she said in a teacher-ish, stern voice, peering over the top of imaginary glasses at me. It was clear that she was trying desperately to keep a straight expression on her face.

I shuddered "Ye look like me 'istory teacher, ugh!" I said. It was the truth; she was just a lot less wrinkly.

She clasped her hands together in an expression of joy "Oh, you don't know how 'appy this makes me!" she exclaimed "Now I can die content, 'cos I can do an impersonation of a pruney, old-" her composure broke and she started laughing helplessly.

"Tsk, tsk," I tutted, fighting off a grin myself "You'll never make it in the world of comedy if ya laugh at yer own jokes!" and then it was over, all of us were laughing... again. I didn't know exactly _what _set us off when we did that. A little smirk, the slight curve of someone's mouth, a tiny chuckle, and then we were all rolling on the floor.

For the next few hours we all sat around, talking, laughing, and teasing. Brian had stepped out for awhile and he had told us that he trusted that we'd keep practicing. We all promised that we'd do just as he said. Not exactly.

Every time I looked at Emily it was the same as when I'd been playing; my stomach fluttered like someone had shot off a cannon loaded with butterflies in there. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this way except for... well I'd learned to act on my feelings, so I figured that I'd better act on this one.

I coughed to clear my throat, causing everyone to look up. I only had eyes for one person in the room, though "Er, Emily?" I asked. She looked at me in surprise.

"Yes?" she replied, her eyes clouding with confusion. A hundred thoughts appeared to be running through that red-haired head.

"Could I talk to ya over there?" I pointed to a corner of the studio that was out of earshot of everyone else. She got up and followed me over, now probably at bursting point with curiosity about what I needed to tell her.

She bent her head toward me and it was all I could do not to lean in and close my eyes. Her voice lowered to a hushed tone "Did I say something to offend ya?" the sound of her lowered voice sent a wave of goosebumps over my skin and several dirty thoughts coursing through my mind. No, she hadn't offended me. Not in the least.

"No," I reassured her "In fact, you've done just the opposite." She looked incredibly relieved "I was wonderin' if you'd like to grab some lunch with me."

"That sounds nice. When?" she asked with a smile.

"I've always been one fer showin' me spontaneous side, so now?" I had only had the idea moments before. Her eyes flickered up to the clock, which read 12:00.

"Now sounds good," her smile, though it didn't reach her eyes, seemed to light up the somewhat overcast day "I _am _really hungry." she admitted as her stomach growled audibly. I chuckled at her mortified countenance and she glared playfully at me, swatting my shoulder. It wasn't a touch that meant anything more than teasing but in my mind, I pretended that it was. She went over to go get her coat as I went over to put mine on. The weather was absolutely atrocious, as was the usual in midwinter England.

I held the door open for her and then remembered something "Macca?" I called over my shoulder as we headed out "We're goin' for lunch. If Brian gets back before we do, tell 'im where we went, yeah?" Paul opened his mouth, presumably on the verge of protest, so I wiggled my fingers at him "Ta!"

The last thing I saw before stepping out was an unreadable, almost stony look on Ringo's usually cheerful face. This was strange. Ringo was optimistic and happy-go-lucky to the point of being flat-out irritating most days, so it was an odd expression for him to be taking on. _Wonder what's wrong with him? _I thought.

**Emily's POV**

Once we were outside, I turned to face John "I'm not too familiar with Liverpool, are there quite a few good restaurants around here?" My stomach continued in it's loud campaign for food; so loud in fact that I was sure that John could hear it. I snuck a peek at him and he appeared not to have heard anything.

"Aye," he responded "There are quite a lot of good ones. If ya don't mind overly much, I was gonna take ye to one of my favorites. They serve fab fish and chips. You do like those, don't ye?" he looked a little more than just worried worried, like he would cease to exist if I said that I detested the meal that he had just suggested.

I toyed with the idea of teasing him and and telling him that I hated it with every fiber of my soul just to see his reaction, but then I decided it would be too cruel "Of course," I giggled "Who doesn't?"

He let out a breath "Well, me sister can't stand the stuff, so I wanted to make sure you were okay with it," How touching. I'd never had a man care so much about what I thought and about my state of being.

Our walk wasn't long, but any amount of time spent in this bitter cold seemed magnified tenfold. The clouds hung low in the sky, making the day seem dreary. A particularly bitter blast of wind hit us in the face and I pulled the collar of my coat up to shield at least part of my face from the onslaught. John noted my discomfort and made to remove his jacket, presumably to wrap around my shoulders. It was freezing out even with a coat, so there was no way that I was going to allow John to sacrifice the only thing saving him from the cold to warm me even a little.

"Oh, no you don't!" I exclaimed, attempting to press the jacket back onto him "You'll freeze to death in this cold if you take off yer jacket!" despite my best efforts to prevent him from shedding the coat, he was much stronger than me and was steadily gaining the upper hand in this little scuffle.

"But I don't even feel the cold!" he said, grasping my wrists. I had no idea why the two of us were being so stupid about the whole thing; I could've just let him give me his coat or he could've just forgotten the whole thing. The answer came to me fairly easily; we were both extremely stubborn people and not willing to let the other win.

"You will if ye take off that coat! Now keep it on, will ye?" passersby didn't seem to think anything of our scene. We probably looked like a couple that was just enjoying the day and having some fun. That's not to say we were, considering the fact that I had only met him hours before. Something happened and we ended up in a situation that looked odd and felt even stranger; my hands were pressed against his chest and his arms were wrapped around my waist. Again, this didn't outwardly look odd, that sort of thing was a common sight, couples goofing off, playing around. John looked just as stunned at the event that had just taken place as I felt. He shook his head a little and blinked his eyes a few times as though to clear them of a foreign object.

I wiggled out of his arms "Sorry," I said. One thing was for certain, I wasn't cold anymore. My entire body burned with embarrassment and something else, what was it?

"S'okay," he waved it off, but something in his actions changed. It was barely noticeable, and it wasn't clear exactly what it was, but there it was. The rhythm of his steps changed and so did the way he angled his body.

We resumed our walk, and it wasn't long before we approached a building that exuded cheerfulness and teemed with life. John held the door open for me and immediately I was enveloped in a wave of warm air that smelled of good food and warmed my very soul. Cliché, I know, but it did.

"Ahh," I inhaled all of the scents, just barely managing to control my watering mouth. John relaxed as the air hit him. He never really relaxed I noted, just sort of. No matter what, there was always a hint of tension in his shoulders, his eyes, his mouth, or a combination of the three.

"Good afternoon," a blonde waitress greeted us. Her blue eyes sparkled with friendliness. Something about her smile was faintly, yet distinctly familiar to me. She studied my face closely, which might have been somewhat frightening to me if I wasn't doing the same thing to her. It was going to bug me until I figured it out; who was she?

Her eyes suddenly flew open in recognition "Emily Scott, is that you?" she gasped. Now there was no question as to who this girl was.

_"Mo?" _I asked in disbelief "I didn't know you worked 'ere!" I knew Mo worked at some restaurant in Liverpool, but she had never told me which one. It wasn't like I had time to go and eat at a restaurant.

"Cor, I 'aven't seen you in the longest time!" she exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug. Maureen Cox had been my best friend since before I could remember. She'd always been there for me whenever life with dad had gotten unbearable, which was a lot. She was sweet, understanding, funny, and thank God, patient. Only a person with the hugest amounts of patience would be able to deal with me and my many woes. Mo never complained when I spilled my guts and several gallons of tears to her.

"I was just getting ready to call yer house..." she trailed off, noticing the purple and blue marks on my face "Oh, hon," she said sympathetically, patting my arm "I swear, that no-good, low-life bastard is gonna get it from me sometime!" she said, shaking a fist and scowling in what was supposed to be a menacing manner. Her petite features somewhat ruined the effect.

I grinned "It's nice to see you, too." John took this moment to cough loudly, as though to remind us of his presence.

"Not that I'm not enjoyin' this touching little exchange, but-" he rubbed his stomach meaningfully. Mo seemed to notice John for the first time. She also caught on to who he was, because her mouth opened in a perfect "o" and a tiny squeak escaped her lips. John smirked at her reaction and pressed a finger to his own lips, a silent request for her not to go all fan-girl on him and give away his identity.

Mo took a moment to silently compose herself before nodding in a somewhat stunned way "Okay, well, I'll show you to yer table." she said dazedly. Thankfully, she took us to a booth on the far side of the restaurant, away from possibly prying eyes. John sank into the booth in obvious relief, and we both ordered fish and chips and a glass of water. No sooner than we had placed our orders did Mo jerk her head at me, indicating that she wanted to speak to me alone. With a reluctant groan I got up again and followed her to a place in the building that was out of earshot of everyone else.

Mo bent her head in toward mine, making certain that no one would hear "Since when are ye datin' John _Lennon_?" she asked in a reverent whisper. I chuckled at her starstruck behavior.

"I'm not dating 'im," I explained "He just wanted to take me out for lunch." Mo's reaction suggested that the two things weren't very different at all "An' there's something else, so do you want to know a secret?" Mo giggled at my Beatle song usage, because she knew that it was my favorite song.

"I promise not to tell," she replied.

"Okay, it's sort of a long story," I hedged, hoping that she would say that it was fine if I just cut to the point of my story.

"I've got time," she responded "The food's fab around 'ere, but the cooks are pretty blinkin' slow about the whole thing, so _spill." _she demanded.

I groaned. _I seem to be telling and hearing this story a lot as of late, _I thought, launching into the story for the millionth time that day. There were a few differences in the version that I told Mo, since I told her _why _I had left. Her eyes teared up a little.

"Oh, Em," she said, hugging me "I'm so glad ye left! 'Specially since you got to stay at Ringo's 'ouse! Now why is John Lennon taking ye to lunch?" she said, nearly bursting with curiosity. I decided to tell her before she exploded from the tension of the whole thing.

"So, Ringo took me to the Beatles' studio, and I met Mr. Epstein. Ringo pointed out to him that the hotel maids stole lots of their stuff on tour, and so he 'ired me as the Beatles' housekeeper." I finished my story and Mo stared at me, speechless. Then she bounced up and down with happiness.

"I'm so 'appy for ya!" she whisper-squealed "Now you've put the whole dad-thing behind you and you have a job that'll make ye 'appy!" A shout came from behind the counter and Mo started

"That'll be yer food," she said "Go sit down, I'll bring it over."

I walked back over to the table and John quirked an eyebrow at me, asking silently what that little chat was all about. I shrugged and sat down.

"You know how girls are. We like to chat," he grunted and rolled his eyes, as though he'd experienced way too many chatty girls in his lifetime. Now, it was more screaming girls than anything, I would imagine.

Mo approached the table with our food "Here you are, two orders of fish an' chips an' two glasses of water," she said, setting them down on the table in front of us. John gave her a wink as a way of saying thank you and Mo turned a deep shade of pink before hurrying away. He apparently thought nothing of it, and proceeded to attack the food on his plate with a fervor.

"Do you always do that?" I asked, sipping my water.

"Do wot?" he asked thickly through a mouthful of food. He looked and sounded so ridiculous, I had to chuckle a little.

"Wink at girls and make them nervous," I responded, munching on my food.

He made an offended face at me "I don't know what yer talkin' about!" he proclaimed "I just like to compliment birds when they're beautiful!" he paused, taking in my irate facial expression at the use of the nickname _bird _"And speakin' of that, you're one of the most beautiful ones that I have had the pleasure to meet. Your hair looks like it's on fire when the light catches it, your eyes sparkle even at the littlest pleasures in life-" he was getting on a roll now, so I decided to cut him off.

"Whoa, whoa!" I exclaimed "I've only known you for a few hours, don't you think it's a little premature to be sayin' things like that to me?" John looked a little crestfallen, but his brown eyes still twinkled merrily at me, and suddenly I didn't mind the load of compliments so much.

"Oh, I don't know," John said "It looks to me like yer enjoyin' them." My hand came up to grab my water glass, but John grabbed it before it could reach the desired target "Yer not good at acceptin' compliments, are ye?" he asked, threading his fingers through mine. It felt as though wherever John's hand touched mine had sprouted a few extra nerve endings.

"Not really, no. I'm not used to getting so many at once," I said, trying to extricate my hand from his. It didn't work; he just tightened his grip.

"That comes as a surprise to me," he said "I'd think you'd be gettin' praise left an' right for just bein' you." I felt a hot blush creep up my neck. I felt John lean closer, and he kept doing so by little intervals until I felt that I must change the subject before we were doing something, surrounded by people, that we would come to regret. Or at least I would.

"So," I coughed to signal a change in subject. John reluctantly leaned back to where he was "Wot kind of music do ye like?" I asked. He smirked at my not-so-smooth segue before responding. The way the corners of his mouth quirked up make my heart skip a beat.

"Erm, let's see 'ere," he pondered "Elvis, Fats Domino, Chuck Berry..." I started to laugh, and his eyebrows furrowed in a frown of confusion.

"Wot? Are my music tastes poor in yer opinion?" I chuckled again.

"No, I just find it funny that someone else shares the same music tastes as me," I responded "Maureen excepted, all my friends think me music taste is rather odd. They can't understand why all the music I like is American." John threw his head back with a laugh "What's so funny about that?" I questioned.

"Haha, oh, nothin'," he chuckled "You sound like me younger sister, Sarah. She loves those artists, too, but some of her mates think it's daft to like American singers." I had nearly forgotten that John's fingers were still interlaced with mine. But I didn't mind anymore. His touch was reassuring.

"Wot kind of guitars do ye like?" he asked suddenly "I know it's an odd question, but you mentioned owning a Rickie 12 string, at least I assume it was a 12 string, since ye were fawning over George's guitar." I smiled.

"You guessed right, it's a Rickenbacker 12 string. God, I loved that thing," I sighed in reminiscence. My brothers had always accused me of nearly playing it to death.

John was on the verge of saying something, but at the last second thought better of it, and then thought of something else to say "What do you think of Fender Strats?" My eyes lit up and we launched into an intense discussion about the different guitars and their pros and cons. The time passed so quickly I didn't notice Mo come up to our table until she cleared her throat a little to present the bill to us.

I jumped "Oh, 'ello Mo," I said. She glanced at our entwined fingers and gave me a significant look that said, _Didn't you say you two weren't dating?_ I shrugged with a smile.

"Here's yer bill," she said "I guess that I should warn ya that it's sleetin' out now an' that someone must 'ave recognized you," here she pointed to John "'Cause there's a bunch of fan-girls out there." John groaned and put his head in his hands.

"Fab," he groused "This is going to be just _wonderful. _We're going to have to run 'ome in the sleet an' avoid bein' killed by crazy fan-girls." Suddenly, I was tempted to follow John's lead and drop my head into my hands.

"Mo, is there a back exit?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'll show ya where it is," she replied, leading us carefully to the kitchen, and showed us where a door opened up to a small, dingy alley "You can leave through 'ere," she said nervously "Be careful, yeah?" We hugged each other.

"I'll give ya a ring when we get to where we're goin'. Come see 'em perform sometime?" she smiled and shooed us out the door.

We crept through the alley silently, trying to ignore the stinging sheets of sleet that were assaulting us. Once we made it out to the normal street however, a piercing shriek filled the air.

"There he is! It's _JOHN LENNON!_" We dashed down the street, squinting against the pelting bits of ice and water. I tripped and almost fell. My speed was greatly reduced and I thought I was a goner as the fan-girls caught up to me, but then a warm hand wrapped around mine. _John._ He gripped my hand tightly and pulled me along to keep me from getting overrun by the screaming, hysterical girls that were behind us.

Once we arrived at the studio again, we had lost the girls. My long hair was plastered to my face and I pushed it back. John shook his head like a wet dog, attempting to dry it at least a little.

"Wow," I huffed "Do ya deal with this sort of stuff every day?" John nodded, brushing his sopping wet hair out of his eyes.

"'Ere," I offered "Ya missed some." I reached up to brush some of the remaining hair out of his eyes, but then I found myself staring deeply into his dark brown eyes. We stood there for a moment, and then John's lips brushed against mine. My brain went into hyperdrive, but I shut down all the overwhelming compulsions to break away and run and I kissed him back.

And we stood there for what seemed like forever, my hands threaded through his hair, one of his hands on the back of my neck, and the other around my waist. Just sharing a kiss in the freezing sleet.

For the first time in a long time, I felt safe and happy.


	7. Chapter 7

**George's POV:**

Emily and John went dashing out the door before Paul could get a word in edgewise. Paul was going to tell them that Brian was going to be back any minute and they should probably reconsider leaving so Brian wouldn't have a heart attack when he came back to find them missing. Of course, John didn't pay any attention to this. John Lennon did whatever John Lennon wanted and didn't give a rat's arse about the consequences until they happened, and even then he only cared if they applied to him specifically.

I caught a glimpse of Emily's face before the door slammed shut, but only a second was enough time to tell that she'd fallen hard for John and his charismatic ways. Typical. He knew what birds wanted to hear through lots and lots of practice and he made sure he always said the right things.

Ringo walked back over to his drums, slumped down on the seat, and tapped his sticks against them halfheartedly "Looks like John snagged 'imself another one, huh?" he sighed with a roll of his eyes. Ringo hadn't been with us for very long, but he'd been around long enough to observe John and his many one-night stands.

Paul propped one of his feet against one of the amps and fooled around with a few chords on his base before answering Ringo's general statement "Yeah, looks like it. I hope 'e's going to be better to 'er than he's been to a lot of the other ones." Paul had a tendency to worry a lot, and when he worried, he fiddled with a lock of hair, which he was doing now.

I shook my head at his furrowed brow "Paul, yer worse than an old mother hen," I informed him "She's a strong girl. She can 'andle herself."

"Yeah, but-" I gave him a significant look that said not to push this any further. Ringo's scowl was becoming more pronounced with each passing comment between the two of us. His irritable behavior was starting to become quite strange. Ringo was never one to be in a bad mood for any period of time, and this was now the longest he'd been in a blue funk "Never mind." Paul sighed, blowing out a huge breath.

Wisely, he decided to change the subject "You fellas want somethin' to eat?" The full extent of my growling stomach was realized when the mention of food came up.

"_Yes!_" I exclaimed "I'm _starvin'!_" Ringo chuckled at my sudden outburst, lifting some of the frown off his face.

"I hate to tell ya this, Geo, but yer _always_ hungry!" he grinned.

"Oh, bugger off!"I mock-pouted "I am not. I can't 'elp it if I'm a growin' boy an' need me food!"

Paul cracked a smile at that "George, you eat an' eat an' never gain a bloody pound. How do ya do it?" I shrugged, heading over to the mini refrigerator.

"I'll never tell," I responded, digging through the fridge for something that looked mildly edible. We made sure to stuff a bit of food in there if we thought that we'd be working late, which was quite often, but we somehow never managed to remember to clean the thing out even once in awhile. Which was why there were quite a few things in there that I wasn't quite sure what they were. _If you can't tell what it is, stay away from it, _I reminded myself, shuddering when my hand brushed across something that shouldn't have been squashy, but was all the same.

Finally, I located a package of sandwiches that looked like they weren't toxic "Aha!" I said triumphantly, waving the packages "Found 'em!" The other guys came over and looked suspiciously over my shoulder. None of us trusted that refrigerator, and for good reason. John had gotten food poisoning from something that he'd grabbed from it when he couldn't stand being hungry any longer. And yet, none of us would clean it.

Paul prodded one of the sandwiches cautiously "You sure these are okay to eat?"

"I think so," I said, taking one in my hand and sniffing it.

"They smell okay," Ringo shrugged and grabbed one, tearing into it hungrily "They taste okay." he mumbled thickly through a mouthful that puffed his cheeks out cartoonishly. Paul turned away to hide a growing smirk.

"Wot?" Ringo asked, sandwich hanging loosely in his hand. Paul snorted, failing to contain his chuckles any longer. When he realized how stupid he sounded he clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Rings," I lectured, hands on my hips "I _told _ye not to adopt any more piggies!" Ringo shrugged in an innocent way.

"I couldn't 'elp it Georgie, 'es so darn _cute!_" Ringo leaned over to pinch Paul's cheek, making him lean away, lose his balance, and slip backward off the amplifier he was seated on. Now all we could see of Paul was the bottoms of his feet.

"Well," said Paul from his new seating arrangement "I can't be a piggy. Me nose ain't big enough. But Ringo on the other hand-" Ringo's hand flew up to cover his rather large nose in a defensive manner. Poor Ringo. He really did have quite a sizable nose, and John never let him forget it either. We all had our physical traits that ended up being the butt of several jokes. Ringo's was his larger-than-average nose, mine was my bushy eyebrows, and Paul's was his girlishly long eyelashes.

"Oi!" he yelped "Don't insult me nose! It's sensitive!" He patted his nose comfortingly and consoled it. I grinned at Ringo's exaggerated condolence of his nose.

**Paul's POV**

"Anyone want a ciggie?" I asked, offering a pack up. Both of them took one, and no sooner had we lit them than did Brian come bursting back into the studio. He had an expression on his face that meant he was on the verge of one of his infamous tellings-off. We already had more than enough tension hanging in the air, so I tried to head him off before he could get up a head of steam.

"We were workin', Brian, honest! We just stopped to take a break a few minutes ago." I placated him. A moment went by, and his face relaxed, signifying that we'd avoided a major meltdown.

But then his brow furrowed again "Where's Lennon and Miss Scott?" he asked. He had just touched on the very subject George and I were so desperately avoiding.

"They went fer lunch," was Ringo's moody reply as he slouched on the seat of the drum set. He took a long drag from his cigarette. Brian immediately noticed his departure from normal behavior and shot George and I a look; _what'd I miss? _We shrugged almost imperceptibly; _dunno. He's been like this for awhile now._

Suddenly a rat-tatting on the roof was audible, a peek out the window showed that it had started to sleet. Really hard. As one might imagine, that did absolutely nothing for the gloomy moods that were already running rampant.

A pounding of footsteps came up the walk and we all dashed to the window to examine the source of it. John and Emily were standing just outside the door, both bent double, apparently breathing hard, and sopping wet. I guess the last two were a given; usually when people are bent double they're out of breath, and I just mentioned that it was sleeting to beat the band—so why shouldn't they be soaked? _Paulie, sometimes you're an idiot of massive proportions,_ I told myself with an internal eye roll.

Emily shook her long, red hair out of her eyes and said something to John, who responded after shaking his moptop like a dog to get it out of his eyes. She smiled tenderly at him and reached up to brush some of his hair that had remained plastered by the freezing onslaught. John "accidentally" leaned forward, so did she, and then they locked lips and started kissing. This time, the eye roll wasn't internal. It was a great big, makes-your-head-lean-back eye roll. _John, you man-whore,_ I silently berated him. I saw George shake his head, most likely thinking the same thing that I was. As if I was any better, though.

Ringo stalked back over to the drums as soon as he noticed Emily and John kissing. A few seconds later, an almighty _CRASH!_ echoed through the room. We all nearly jumped out of our skins and whirled around to see one of the cymbals from the drum set rattling to a stop. Ringo stood there next to it, and it wasn't really all that hard to see what had happened.

"Me 'and bumped it by accident." he mumbled, heading off to the bathroom. _Riiiiight._ That was about as likely as George getting chatty in public. In other words, not a chance in hell. All of the missing pieces to the puzzle of Ringo's newfound grumpiness fell into place.

John wasn't the only one who had fallen for our new housekeeper. _Great._

**Ringo's POV**

_Why was it _always_ John? _I asked myself, staring glumly into the mirror. _Or Paul for that matter, or even George, but everyone always seems to look past the drummer in a band. But all the girls swooned over their last drummer, so what's wrong with me?_

Maybe it was my nose, so large it appeared to have been attached to my face by accident. Or my height; God only knew I could stand to gain a few more inches. It could be my eyes too, though; it's not a picnic when you have to go through life with a permanent puppy dog countenance. _What a combination, I'm a right mess, aren't I? _Whenever a girl was interested in me, it was to croon over how "adorable" I was, not on a romantic level. I guess that was as far as Emily's interest went too.

I heaved a great sigh, running a hand through my hair. By now they were probably wondering where I was; I'd moped around long enough. I screwed a passable smile on my face and headed out of the bathroom, back to where John, George, Paul, and Emily were. Back to where Emily and John were probably hanging on each other. _On second thought..._ hanging out in the loo for the rest of the day didn't seem as unbearable as watching them getting all lovey-dovey. _C'mon Ringo, be a man._

My smile slipped right off my face as soon as I walked back into the studio. John had his arm wrapped around Emily's waist, and every so often she'd glance up at him with a look that made my stomach turn. And why would that be? She'd looked at me the very same way that morning while we were doing the dishes. Maybe it wasn't exactly the same—my arm wasn't around her waist, it was elbow deep in bubbles—but it was similar enough to make my stomach clench painfully.

Brian's eyes bounced back and forth between John, Emily, and I a few times before he took a deep breath and spoke up "Boys? Could we run that _Love Me Do _number one more time?" We all nodded and trudged over to our instruments. I had this little, tiny idea that Brian knew exactly what was going on, and wanted to avoid any possible disagreements at all costs.

Once we were done, we went over to Paul's family's place—they weren't there at the time—and did some more talking. Emily could joke along with us pretty well, but I still refused to respond to any words that came my way that were uttered from her mouth. A confused look stole over her face whenever I feigned deafness, but John always made her laugh a few seconds later, seemingly unable to bear her being anything less than joyful.

The room started getting dark when Paul's stomach gurgled. Everyone started to laugh, well, I managed a weak chuckle. I knew I was being childish, but I really didn't give a damn at this point.

"I take that noise to mean you could use some food, Paul," Emily chuckled, getting up from John's lap "Wot d'you guys want to eat?" she asked, making her way toward the kitchen. Unable to come up with a solid conclusion, she settled for making some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and tea. At least two more hours went by while we ate and talked. For being shy when she'd first met these guys, Emily wasn't anywhere near that now. She laughed, joked, and clowned around like she'd known us for a long time.

George was on the verge of saying something when a massive yawn interrupted his train of thought "I think it's time to head 'ome," he said, trying and failing to stifle another one. Emily stretched and got up.

"Yeah, I think so, too." she said "Where am I staying tonight? _No, _John." she answered John's pleading stare. Thank God she at least had the strength to say no to his sex-starved pleas.

"Well, since yer things are already at Ringo's, why don't you stay with him for tonight? We're gonna be getting goin' pretty early tomorrow mornin', so get some rest tonight, yeah?" he breezed right over my not-so-subtle shaking of the head, _No, please, let her stay with _anyone_ else. Not me. _She looked just as awkward about it as I felt, obviously, she had noticed my less-than-stellar mood.

We got in my car and were silent for the entire duration of the ride. A few times, she shifted uncomfortably and tried to make small talk, but my lack of participation soon made her drift back into silence. Was I a jerk? Yes. Would I feel bad about it later and most likely lose sleep over it? Also yes. Was I going to stop? Probably not.

After we entered the house, Emily turned to me. Her eyes were soft and full of concern, just like they'd been when I was going to confront her about her bruises and she thought I'd had too much to eat. I nearly let my guard down, nearly apologized for being an ass, but caught myself.

"Ringo?" she asked "You okay?" I grunted and headed into my room, slamming the door shut. I unbuttoned my shirt and started to put my pajamas on when a small whisper floated through my closed door.

"Goodnight, Ringo."


	8. Chapter 8

**Emily's POV**

I stood outside Ringo's door for a long time. I wanted to make sure he was asleep before I ventured in. His bad mood had persisted ever since we'd gotten to the studio. Try as I might, I couldn't place where his grouchiness had come from. I did know it was directed at me. That much was obvious. I just didn't know what I'd done to deserve it.

By now, I figured that he'd fallen asleep. I gently eased the door open, tiptoed over to my bed, quickly wiggled out of my dress and into my nightgown, and got under the covers. My eyelids were heavy, like someone had glued sandbags to them. I was soon pulled under by the waves of sleep, but my sleep was not a peaceful one and was plagued with strange dreams.

Two faceless heads that looked vaguely familiar despite their lack of features swirled around my thoughts, whispering, _"Choose, choose." _It shouldn't have intrigued me, but it did. I wanted to know so badly what I had to choose, and why. My dreams seemed to revolve around me trying to make sense of what was going on, but those two heads just kept whispering the same word twice, over and over again until I was sure that I would burst with the strain of not knowing.

I tossed back and forth, my slumber fitful and disturbed, until a pair of warm lips pressed gently against mine brought me back to consciousness.

The room drowsily blinked back into focus. John was leaning over me "Mornin', luv." he whispered with a grin on his face. I groaned and squinted at the clock; _6:30 am. _I glanced up at him with a mildly irate expression on my face. I wanted to be mad at him for waking me up, but the smile that quirked the corners of his mouth up and sent sparkles through his eyes made it was the reason that lucky little me got to be woken up at this early hour? And for that matter, how did they get in here? I was sure I had locked the door last night.

"How did ye-" I noticed that the other boys were also in the room, attempting to rouse Ringo from his bed. John waved a set of house keys in response, gesturing that I should get out of bed. "Care to explain why yer wakin' us up so damn early?" I asked groggily. My morning voice was awful, scratchy and thick.

Paul saw that I was up and waved a hand in greeting "'Ey, luv. We've gotta get goin' so we can get to the 'otel on time." I gave him a confused look. He understood it was confused, but to someone else, it may have just looked dazed and half-awake. I was both of those things too, though "Where we're stayin' durin' our gig." he explained.

I nodded in understanding, but was still silently willing them to go away so I could get a few more hours of precious rest time. My eyes felt sandy and grainy with sleep. Right then, I was starting to regret accepting my job.

Ringo rolled out of bed, and I snatched up my bag to go into the bathroom. It was too early to be dealing with any kind of drama.

Today, I didn't linger to feel the warm water beating soothingly on my back in the shower. I soaped up my hair and rinsed it, taking care to get all the shampoo out. Hopping out of the shower I dried off and pulled on my most comfortable clothes, a red, loose-fitting top and a gray skirt with the bottom hem lined in black. I yanked a brush through my hair painfully and then twisted it into a bun at the nape of my neck so it would hopefully stay out of my face while we traveled. I had learned from my mistake yesterday, and I put concealer over my bruises this time. That way they appeared to be little more than shadows or a trick of the light.

I stepped out of the bathroom to see George waiting in the hallway, still looking a little bleary-eyed himself.

"Sorry," I said "Did I keep ya waitin' long?" he shook his head.

"Nah, I was just waitin' for ya to be done. Brian's outside in the car, 'e's never the most pleasant person in the mornin', and even less so if we're running behind schedule." he replied, holding out a hand. I stared at his outstretched hand dumbly for a moment before recognizing that he wanted to take my bag for me. Feeling heat creep up the back of my neck, I deposited my bag in his hands. A smile quirked the corner of his mouth up lopsidedly.

We were at the bottom of the stairs when I remembered that I had forgotten my laundry from the day before. That dress was one of my favorites, so I trotted off in the direction of the laundry, calling over my shoulder, "I left some of my things in the dryer yesterday, I'll be right back!" Unfortunately for me, there was another person standing in front of the dryer with his back turned to me. A person that I'd been doggedly avoiding. Ringo.

_Oh, shit. This isn't going to go well at all. _"Erm, excuse me, Ringo," I whispered, chewing my lip nervously. He flew around to face me with an unreadable expression spreading across his features. It was so unexpected that I took a shaky step back. He was not happy to see me, not at all.

Not even bothering to use the barest pleasantries, he hissed, "What's wrong with you?" My mouth flew open in surprise. What did he mean, what's wrong with me?!

"What's wrong with _me?_" I whispered, trying not to shout and cause a scene "I should be askin' ya the same thing! Ever since I got back with John after lunch you've been in a piss-poor mood and I'd like to know the reason why. Care to share?"

He shot me a glare that seemed so at odds with the normally sparkling blue eyes "Ya really don't know?" he asked incredulously, scoffing. He was really getting my dander up now.

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't," I said coolly "Believe it or not, I actually don't read minds. So I suggest ya explain. I don't have a lot of time to waste." An icy chill was pouring into my voice with every syllable that I spoke.

"Well, no need to get snippy with me, Maggie May." he retorted, the scowl still marring his features.

I was now beyond indignant. A whore?! How dare he call me a tart? I'd never even had sex before "How about we stop with the insults and get to the point? If there is one." I growled darkly. For being seemingly the best of friends 24 hours ago, we were now at one another's throats.

"Oh, there's a point. I just wanted to know how a bird could flirt with one bloke for a minute, an' then be all over another the next an' then 'ave the gall to deny the fact that she's a tart." he said quietly, his voice tinged with an intense burn that was such that I stumbled back a step like I'd been struck.

My brows furrowed for a moment, because his statement was not only painful; it was confusing "Ringo, what—what're you—did you—" I was unable to string a sentence together through my combined anger and confusion.

"I dunno about all that," Ringo said, scathingly sarcastic "But I do know that you were actin' like we were a little more than friends, but then in the same day, you and John looked attached by the mouth." my eyes were in severe danger of popping out of my head. With astonishing clarity, the reason for Ringo's sour mood had just presented itself to me.

"Ya thought I fancied ya?" I nearly yelped, struggling to keep my voice down. How the hell did _that _end up in his thought process? I had never, not once, indicated that I had any more feelings for him than those of a friend.

"The way ya were actin' it wouldn't be fuckin' 'ard to believe it." he snapped back, not bothering to lower his voice now.

I figured that since he made no efforts to keep his voice down, I didn't have to either "Let me tell you something, Richard Starkey," I snarled, poking his chest "I've never acted like I loved ya, so I'm not sure where the fuck ye get off with that. An' I'll tell ya somethin' else," I added "I love John, an' aside from this row, I'm 'appier than I've been in a hell of a long time." _There, I said it. _I loved John. By the time I was finished speaking, my voice had gone from a near-shout to a whisper so I wouldn't burst into tears and completely ruin the angle I was going for.

His eyes softened for half a second—such a short time that I might have imagined it—but then they hardened again "An' another thing, you should know that John 'as a—"

I cut across him before he could finish his thought "John could 'ave twelve toes fer all I fuckin' care. Save it, Ringo." I snatched my clothes out of the dryer and hurried away, hot tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I brushed at them impatiently.

George was still standing at the door with my things. He took one look at my flushed face and shining eyes and asked "Ya alright?" His eyebrows contracted in concern.

If I said anything about it I'd start bawling like a baby, so I choked "I'm fine. Just gear." I walked out to the car and got in next to John, who wrapped an arm around my shoulders and buried his face in my hair, trying to make me feel better. The car ride was entirely silent and the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. No one dared to speak, lest someone's temper broke and a shouting match ensued.

After what felt like a day, we finally pulled up to the train station. The boys put on hats, yanked them down low over their eyes, and pulled their collars up to avoid recognition and the all-too-likely possibility of a resulting stampede of hysterical girls. Two men were waiting for us, hands shoved deep in their pockets.

Brian motioned for me to come forward "Miss Scott, these are our two road managers, Mal Evans and Neil Aspinall." I managed a smile and held out my hand. They each shook it warmly with big smiles on their faces, apparently these two were quite friendly.

"Mr. Epstein, you can just call me Emily, please." I said. Mal's eyes widened in surprise for some reason.

"Ye wouldn't 'appen to be the younger sister of two young men named Ben and Michael Scott, would ye?" he inquired. I gasped, those were indeed the names of the two older brothers that I hadn't seen in two years.

"I am, why? Do ya know them?" I hardly dared believe it. I heard from them in letters, but a letter was a poor substitute for a face-to-face conversation. They both, like me, had flaming red hair and mischievous green eyes that were constantly dancing with mirth for one reason or another, but also had the ability to be stone-cold when necessary. My brothers were my best friends, and when they left it was absolute murder on my heart.

"Yeah, I do. They're a great pair of blokes, very friendly, nice, an' such." he replied.

"'Ave ya seen 'em lately?" I could barely contain my excitement. I'd missed my brothers so much.

"In fact, I 'ave. They're doin' just fine. Got a recording studio set up, still waitin' fer business, but it shouldn't be too long. There's a lot of music playin' folks in Liverpool." I wanted to hug Mal tightly, but I felt that it might be just the littlest bit awkward, so I restrained myself with some difficulty. "I can get ya contact with 'em once we get back," offered Mal. I once again suppressed the urge to fling my arms around his middle and squeeze the daylights out of him.

We boarded the train and went to find our carriage. A few short minutes later, George leapt up and announced that his stomach had had a nice little conversation with his backbone and had come to the unanimous conclusion that he was extremely hungry. He loped off in the direction of the food car. A few minutes passed in ringing silence until my stomach broke it with a loud cry for food. I got to my feet and went in the direction that George had just gone in to find food.

When I arrived at the food car, I came upon George, who was piling large amounts of food into his arms. I smothered a giggle and went to peer over his shoulder; a tall task in many senses of the word, as he was several inches taller than me.

"Hi George, feeding a crowd?" I asked.

He turned to see me "Oh, 'ello Emily. Yeah, me, myself, an' I. We're a hungry bunch of blokes, we are." he chuckled.

I headed over to where the food was laid out "I'm gonna go get some food to feed my party of one. D'you mind waitin' fer me?" George pretended to have a short, yet intense, discussion with the empty air.

"Okay, but 'urry. Me mate 'ere, Myself, 'e's an impatient fellow an' doesn't like to be kept waitin'." he smirked.

I grinned at him picked out an egg sandwich and a to-go mug of tea. Just to annoy him, I crept back over to where he was standing at a pace that would have been outstripped by a snail, I'm sure. He made a show of shifting from one foot to the other, heaving big, exaggerated sighs, and prodding his watch as though checking to see if it had expired.

We started to head back to our seats, but before we left the dining car George paused "I dunno wot you an' Ringo rowed about, an' ya don't 'ave to tell me." I turned around and fixed him with a stare. I was really not in the mood to talk about that, but he persisted "I know yer not gonna believe me, but this stuff will all blow away soon." he paused before adding "Just be careful with John." My mind snapped shut at this last comment. Why couldn't people mind their own business?

"Thanks, George," I remarked sarcastically "But I _think_ I can manage. I'm a big girl now." I sped up and left a slightly bewildered George behind me.

Once I got back I sat down next to John again and ate my food, which was fairly decent considering it was from a train buffet. When I finished, I rifled through my bag in search of one of the books I had packed so I could amuse myself for the duration of the ride. More out of sentimental value than anything, I'd packed Alice's Adventures in Wonderland because it had been my favorite book as a little girl. I propped my feet up on John's lap, opened the careworn cover, and started to read.

I'd only gotten to the second page when John spoke up "Whatcha readin'? He asked, nudging the spine of the book up so he could see "Alice in Wonderland, huh? That was one of me favorites when I was a kid, that was." I shifted so that I was curled up against John and we could both see the book. He told me to wait a minute and fished a pair of glasses out of the pocket of his jacket, explaining that he had bad eyesight, but despised his glasses. I thought they made him look thoughtful and intellectual, but that was probably the look he was attempting to stay away from. Occasionally I'd turn the page and John would whine that I was going too fast. I'd poke his nose and tell him he was going too slow, but in the end I'd wait for him to catch up to me.

My lack of sleep was starting to catch up to me, and eventually I let my half of the book drop as the gentle rocking motion of the train lulled me to sleep.

_Dream_

_I sat on my bed, experimenting with different chords on my guitar, seeing how they meshed up together when the front door slammed with an ominous and resounding BOOM! My fingers immediately started trembling on the strings. More than likely, it was my father, and there would be no way to hide the fact that I was playing my guitar when I was supposed to be cleaning the bathroom._

_ My door flew open and my dad reeled before me, eyes bloodshot, clothes rumpled, and reeking strongly of alcohol. _

_ "Ye lazy bitch!" he slurred "Didn't I tell ya to clean the bathroom? An' 'ere ya are, fiddlin' around with that goddamn guitar!" I flinched away from his putrid breath._

_ "I'm sorry, dad," I whimpered, hating how this man had completely cowed me "I—" I was inching toward the door as I spoke, trying to dart out before he noticed, but he caught my arm and clenched it until I cried out._

_ "Oh, no ya don't, little bitch. Yer always fuckin' around with that damn guitar, an' I'm gonna teach ya not to!" he roared the last words, throwing me backwards so I hit the bed and fell on it. Still muttering about teaching me a lesson, he yanked the zipper down on his pants and started to pull all of his clothes off. My breath caught in my throat. Surely he wasn't going to—I mean, he'd beat me a lot, but to actually— He now stood in the middle of my room, fully naked, leering horribly. I tried to get up from the bed, but he pinned my wrists above my head and straddled my hips with his legs. _

_ "No, dad, please don't!" I pleaded, struggling against the weight of him, but I was too small to throw him off. He started to hit me, making me cry out at times._

_ "I'm not lettin' ya off that easy, bitch," he snarled, smashing his mouth on mine and ripping my clothes off until I lay there exposed "This is a lesson I'll make sure ye never forget!" He started to rape me and my vision swam before me, at times I thought I would pass out. Once he finished, he got off me and I lay curled in a ball on my bed, trying not to black out from the pain. Through my hazed vision, I saw him pick up my guitar. Instinct made me try to push myself upward to save my guitar. _

_ He gave a drunken roar and the last thing I saw before my world exploded in a burst of light that faded to darkness was the body of my guitar colliding with the side of my head._

_ I screamed, but there were four shouting voices trying to pull me out of my dreaming state and back to a waking state._

_End Dream _

"Emily! Emily!" all four of the boys stood over me, shaking me, trying to pull me away from my nightmare. I gave a gasp and my eyes snapped open, taking in my surroundings. My hair was plastered to my face with a combination of sweat and tears, my chest was heaving in great gulps of air to steady my racing pulse.

"Em, what's wrong?" Paul asked, brushing a few sticky strands of hair away from my face. That was all it took; I burst into tears, and then I felt four pairs of arms wrap around me comfortingly, and I sat there for awhile, trying to regain my composure. When I finally did, I explained my dream and the reason that I had left home. Now all four of them knew how I got the gash above my ear

The rest of the train ride went by in comfortable silence, I put my head in John's lap and lay there until the train chugged to a stop.

The next few days went by in a blur, the boys went out gigging, and I stayed at the hotel most of the time, cooking and cleaning. Sometimes I'd go down to where they were playing and watch one of their sets. Their boundless energy on stage never ceased to amaze me. John's wide stance had scared me a little the first time I'd gone to see them with Mo, but now I knew it wasn't so much threatening as it was an attempt to see the edge of the stage so he didn't go flying off.

One early evening, John and I were laying in our bed when he propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at me. I reached up and kissed him gently. Our kisses got more hungry, and soon John was positioned on top of me. He slowly opened his eyes and asked a silent question with them. I gave a little nod. I had never loved anyone more than I loved John in this instant.

**Ringo's POV**

__We'd been here for a few days, and the people really seemed to like us. I was flipping through a magazine, bored, when I heard the phone shrill. George and Paul seemed busy, and per usual John and Emily were nowhere to be seen, so I sauntered over to answer it. A familiar voice picked up.

"'Ello, Ringo? It's Cyn. Is John there?" I smiled grimly. _Boy, was this going to put a twist in their knickers._

"'Ey, Cyn. Yeah, he's 'ere. I'll get 'im for ya. How's Julian doin'?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Ringo's POV**

I walked over toward the part of the suite where I was sure that Emily and John were. I used deductive reasoning and came up with the bedroom as the most likely candidate. Strange sounds were coming frombehind the closed door. Some of them were roughly the equivalent of a dying moose, so I figured that that was John.

**Emily's POV**

John trailed his kisses from my mouth, down my neck, and to the hollow of my throat. My fingers sought the buttons of his shirt, undoing them and pulling the article of clothing off. I ran my hands over the smooth skin of his chest. By all rights, I should have been scared out of my wits. Taking into consideration what I'd been through only a short time ago at the hands of my dad, this shouldn't even be _close_ to something I'd even consider. I couldn't explain why it didn't frighten me. It just felt right.

Slowly, my own shirt was worked over my head. John started to plant kisses on my stomach, making me shriek with giggles "John, stop it! That tickles!" he ignored my pleas, continuing to make me laugh.

"Does it?" he asked, his hands on the top of my skirt, ready to pull it down. A shiver of adrenaline ran through me. I was starting to get a little nervous, but not nervous enough to tell him to stop. My desire far outweighed any inhibitions still in the recesses of my brain.

A loud knocking on the door interrupted us. John was not happy "_Wot?_" he asked irately while pulling my skirt completely off.

"Telephone, John!" a voice that I recognized as Ringo's answered him. John tugged his own pants off. Moving his mouth back up to mine, he started to kiss my lips hungrily again, removing my delicates. I was completely and totally naked now.

"Tell whoever it is that I'm busy!" he instructed, moving away from me just enough to pull off his boxers. He had just gotten them all the way off when Ringo said something that made my blood chill.

"But it's yer wife! Little Julian ain't feelin' too well!" Any desire I'd felt up to this point evaporated. _He has a wife? And a son? _My brain reeled with this new information and I shoved John off me, so hard that his momentum caused him to fall off the bed. Then it hit me; _this is what Ringo was trying to warn me about. Why didn't I listen to him? Oh, that's right. I'm a stubborn idiot!_ I scrambled about for my undergarments, feeling suddenly exposed. Pulling on my skirt and shirt I made for the door, only to be stopped by a still-in-the-buff John.

"Where are ya goin'? He asked, looking genuinely hurt and confused. As if I was going to stay and do something like _that _when I knew he had a wife and little son! Some men could be so _clueless!_

"Where does it look like I'm goin'?" I asked, easing the door open and trying to pull his restraining hand off of my wrist "Away from yer cheatin' arse! John, you 'ave a wife an' child. I can't do that to them. An' neither can you, really." another notion dropped into my head then; something that made my lunch rise in my esophagus. I wasn't the only girl that John had tried to do this to, probably not by a long shot. He would've been much more concerned if this was the first time it had happened. Right now he seemed a little bothered, but not nearly as much as I was. The other thing that made my stomach clench unpleasantly is the fact that John had probably succeeded in his other conquests, more often than not.

"What kind of father _are_ ya?" I asked, angry now " Might I make an inference as to how yer "family life", if ye can call it that, goes? Yer rarely 'ome, ya miss all of yer son's little milestones, an' yer wife makes little excuses to 'erself as to why her 'usband isn't home half the time, an' even she doesn't know the truth 'cause she doesn't want to believe it?" Icicles were practically dripping off my words "Or is this not the truth?Are ye livin' a different reality than the one I just described?"

John pulled his clothes back on before answering me, presumably trying to pull his temper back down to somewhat safer levels "Look, it's not exactly up to me whether I see me wife, okay? Brian's got this idea that we all 'ave to look like we're "available" to the girls so we can keep our "appeal". If a bird presents 'erself to me, it's not gonna look good if I say, 'Sorry, I'm married,' is it?"

"But you couldn't just walk away, could ya? No! You'll flirt with anything if it stands still long enough!" We had backed out into the main area of the suite while we argued, mostly because I was trying to keep a distance from him in case whatever of his self-restraint that yet remained snapped. And then my own self-restraint vanished with a proverbial _poof! _I strode forward and slapped him clean across the face, making his head snap to the side. He clutched his face for a second, and then turned to me with the most dangerous eyes I'd ever seen in my short life. I stumbled back several steps as he took a step forward with his hands balled up.

"Wot the fuck was that?" he roared, his hand coming up. I started to retreat hastily, praying that someone would intervene before I got the shit beaten out of me. Thankfully, Paul and George emerged from their joint bedroom where they'd probably been fiddling around on their instruments. Their eyes widened upon taking in the rather frightening scene and darted at John, trying to pull him backward before significant damage was done to yours truly. John struggled against their restraining arms, trying to free himself.

"Now would be a gear time to make yerself scarce, luv!" Paul shouted, wrestling with his half of John. I needed no further bidding, I darted from the room and ducked into the kitchen where I put my hands on the ledge of the sink and braced myself over it, suddenly breathing hard and shaking so badly I could hardly stand up. Somehow I managed to get over to the cupboard, get a glass, and fill it with water. I drank it slowly, attempting to steady my quavering nerves.

Any energy I had seemed to drain out of me as I slumped against the counter. _Why couldn't I just listen to him? Why am I so hot-headed?_ The questions continued to run through my brain, reminding me of the awful mistakes I had made. _God, I'm so stupid._

In a feeble attempt to take my mind off of what had just transpired, I started to bake some chocolate chip cookies from scratch. I began to assemble my ingredients, setting them all on the counter. When I turned turned to the refrigerator to get a carton of eggs, I was met by an earnest looking Paul, who was holding the carton of eggs out to me. Without thanking him or asking why he was in the kitchen to begin with, I took them and turned back to the counter.

"Are ya 'ere to tell me that what I did was wrong?" I asked in a wavering voice "'Cause I know that very well already, thank you very much." My hands started to shake again, so badly that I dropped the egg on the floor, making it splatter all over.

**Paul's POV**

Emily was so shaken up about the string of events that had just transpired that she dropped her egg on the floor and made a mess. Her nerves were so frazzled that her eyes started to well up at the sight of the gooey mess. I grabbed a paper towel and started to mop it up for her. I'd come here to try and make her feel at least a little better, but so far I was failing miserably. Once I finished, I tossed away the paper towel and stood up.

She had started to put her ingredients in the mixing bowl to cover up the fact that she was fighting against a wave of tears "Some 'ousekeeper I turned out to be. Yer the only one I'm on speakin' terms with. They hate me, don't they." It was less of a question than it was a statement.

I looked at her in surprise "Wot? No! I mean, sure Ringo's a bit pissed at ya right now, since he fancied ya a little an' you 'ad feelings fer John, but he doesn't 'ate ya! Ya definitely bruised John's pride a bit, 'e's never been slapped by a bird—girl—before," I corrected myself "But he'll get over it eventually. An' George isn't mad at ya at all! 'E was just a little bit surprised at yer outburst on the train. He's not a fan of uncomfortable confrontations, y'see? As fer me, I'm not mad at ya at all! Believe you me, if I was pissed at ya, you'd know." This was true, I had a tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve for all to see. It was both a good and a bad thing. I made her look at me to see that what I said was true.

"Cor, I look bloody stupid now, don't I?" she sniffed, rolling the cookie dough into little orbs.

"Well, I wasn't gonna say anything, but—" she smacked my shoulder and I howled in mock-pain, staggering around the kitchen.

Her eyes rolled clean back in their sockets "Oh sod off, pretty-boy!" she gave a watery smile "Yer distractin' me!" she indicated the balls of cookie dough that still needed to be placed on the pan.

"Can I 'elp?" I asked. She gave me a sharp look that I didn't understand.

"That's a definite no," she said firmly "I've learned from experience that men and the kitchen usually do _not_ mix with out disastrous consequences." I shot her the famous McCartney puppy dog eyes and saw her composure crack.

"Well, how about you keep me company?" she compromised. I grinned widely.

"No one can resist the eyes," I stated with a ridiculous amount of confidence. She shot me a look that shut me up in a hurry, picking up the egg carton to put it back into the refrigerator. What I didn't see her do was open the freezer, pull something easily concealable out, and stroll back over to where I was innocently. She suddenly grabbed the back of my shirt.

"'Ey! Wot's the—" something very small and very, very cold dropped down my collar and into my shirt "Holy shit! Get if off! Christ, that's bloody cold! Ahh!" I yelped, doing a mad dance around the kitchen in my frenzy to get the cold little item out of my shirt. An ice cube finally dropped to the floor. Emily was bent double laughing at my escapade. I gingerly picked the miniscule menace up.

"Oh, that's cute. Very amusin'." I said, sauntering back over to where she was. I made like I was going to drop it in the sink, but at the last second I changed direction and neatly plopped it down the front of her blouse. She shrieked and jumped up and down, trying to dislodge the ice cube. I believe it melted before she could get it out because nothing ever fell on the floor. Now it was my turn to be helpless with laughter. I didn't know it at the time, but Emily and I were going to be the best of friends for a long time. I just didn't estimate how much our friendship would be challenged.

Emily popped the tray into the oven and soon lovely, sweet aromas filled the air. A head popped around the door; George. He sniffed the air appreciatively.

She saw him come in and grinned "Ya can 'ave a few as soon as they're cool," she promised him.

**John's POV**

I sat on the bed with my head in my hands. It was amazing how much could go wrong in such a short amount of time. And I'd almost hit her—_hit her!_ Dear God, what the hell was wrong with me? She was wrong too, but for me to actually almost do something that gave her regular nightmares... _Christ, what a bastard I am_. But if that damn phone call hadn't come in...

Granted, most girls never found out that I was married, due mostly to the fact that I only "knew" them for a short period of time and then never saw them again. And if I did, I sure as hell wasn't going to mention it, I mean, what kind of thing is _that_ to say to a girl you just shagged "Oh, by the way, I'm _married?_" Ugh.

Her words hit home. Hard. She was right; I was never there for my son _or_ my wife. So far, I'd missed all of the milestones that parents are usually so proud of. I was away when he started to play with toys, I was gone when he could hold his head up relatively on his own, I was even gone when he started to burble for the first time. Hell, I wasn't even fucking there when he was born! We were on tour and I didn't get to see Julian until he was a fucking week old! What would be next? Would he start crawling while we were gone? God, would he even start walking when I wasn't there?

A lot of the time—hell, most of the time—the idea that I was married was repugnant to me. It felt so limiting, so oppressing. I was what you might like to call a "free spirit", I didn't like anything to tie me down for long. Music was an exception to that otherwise unbreakable rule. So, on most days, I pretended that I _wasn't _married, that I _didn't _have any family obligations to tie me down. And since Brian had that rule about "invisible girlfriends and wives" it wasn't an impossible task. But sometimes there was no better feeling in the world for me than my wife being next to me and having my son in my arms. I guess those times were few and far in between, but there was no denying that I loved both of them.

I snagged my guitar from where it was laying and collapsed back on the bed. My fingers flew over the strings, playing nonsense notes and the occasional chord. It was the only way I could relax and ignore the otherwise smothering whirl of thoughts in my head.

**George's POV**

Paul, Emily, and I sat around in the kitchen until the oven dinged. Emily carefully pulled the tray out and set it on the counter. The warm, chocolatey scent enveloped me and I disregarded the fact that they had just come out of the oven and grabbed one, taking a huge bite. That was not the smartest decision I'd ever made. Of course, it was scalding hot and burned my mouth.

"Ahh, dammit, that's _hot!_" I exclaimed, spitting the crumbs out in the sink and fanning my mouth. Emily stifled a giggle as she filled up a glass of water for me.

"Here y'are George, haha, sorry, but—" The poorly suppressed giggles were smothered no more and she started to laugh. I sent her a pouty look as I gratefully gulped the cooling liquid. The burning sensation in my mouth lessened somewhat. After that, we leaned against the kitchen counters and talked about this and that.

"John mentioned something about a sister of 'is that was in the music business," Emily began "But I don't remember 'er name 'cause John and I got a little... err... distracted after that." by the time she finished her voice was reduced to little more than a squeak and her cheeks were a deep shade of pink.

"Oh, ya mean Sarah?" Paul asked. Emily nodded her head "Yeah, she's a part of a Christian band. They're gettin' more popular now, but they weren't a few months ago. They do stuff like _Amazing Grace_ and all that, but they also do songs with messages an' love songs. In fact, they're comin' 'ere pretty soon. We'll still be 'ere when they start their gig."

"Wot's the name of the band?" she asked, gently picking the cookies off the tray and putting them on a plate.

I answered this one "Blessed Day, y'know bless-ed, like 'dearly beloved?'" Blessed Day was still an unsigned band, but they did a fair amount of gigging, and they were clearly on the fast track to fame. Sarah Lennon was really nothing like her brother, except for the dry sense of humor.

"The only problem with their band is that they don't 'ave a permanent lead guitarist," Paul mused, instantly making me realize his plan "They just invite a friend from a rival band to play with 'em fer their set." he pretended to have just noticed something "'Ey, ya play guitar, don't ya?" he asked.

"Yeah, I do, but me guitar isn't with me, nor would be in workin' condition if it was." she replied with a sigh, reminiscing about her old friend.

"Ya play a Rickenbacker like mine, right?" I inquired, hoping I was right and hadn't forgotten.

She shook her head yes "Uh-huh. That was a gear little guitar, it was."

"We could give ya a mini-audition 'ere, just to get the feel of George's guitar, an' you could audition fer 'em when they get 'ere." Paul said. She laughed, putting her hands up in the universal "Whoa, Nelly" gesture.

"Who ever said I was gonna audition fer 'em?" she asked "I'll play fer you fellas, fine, but I'm not doin' any auditions! I'm not cut out fer the famous life!" she laughed. Emily was a shy girl, but she had some talent in there, I could tell.

"Well, at least play fer us," Paul pleaded, flashing her his puppy face.

"On the condition that ya never make that face again, sure." We walked through the living room to the bedroom that Paul and I were occupying. Ringo had fallen asleep on the couch while doodling around with his drumsticks, they were still held loosely in his grasp while he lay there, curled up in a ball and looking quite cold. Emily fetched a blanket from the closet by the door and draped it over him with a curious expression on her face.

"Yer sure ya don't feel anything more than friendship fer him?" I asked sharply.

She shook her head yes "Yeah, I'm sure. I love 'im, but not in that way. When I stayed with him, it was like 'avin' me brothers back again. 'Aving someone to listen to ya, to make ya laugh, to just be _there, _that's an important thing. I lost that when me brothers left the 'ouse. When I stumbled into Ringo's life, it was like that void in my 'eart was filled. It might 'ave seemed to 'im that I fancied him, but I was just glad beyond words to know that there was someone who was there for me again. 'E was like Michael and Ben rolled all into one. Goofy, lovin', understandin', that's what I thought 'e was. Nothin' more than that and I feel awful that he thought I did." Her words came from the heart, and I could see that she felt terrible about the whole ordeal.

"Maybe ye should tell 'im that." Paul said softly. She nodded quietly in agreement. It would take a lot of courage, but it was something that Ringo needed to hear. And it was something that she needed to say to him.

Once we unpacked my guitar, she hoisted it into her lap, running her fingers gently across the strings. Something in her face changed, for the first time since we'd met her there was nothing guarding her eyes and all the worry lines around her mouth were gone.

"I'm gonna play _Come by the Hills, _a Celtic folk song." she said.

_Come by the hills to the land where fancy is free_

_And stand where the peaks meet the sky and the loughs meet the sea_

_Where the rivers run clear and the bracken is gold in the sun_

_And the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done_

_/celtic_thunder/come_by_the_ ]_

_Come by the hills to the land where life is a song_

_And stand where the birds fill the air with their joy all day long_

_Where the trees sway in time and even the wind sings in tune_

_And the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done_

Her voice rang out, sweet and pure as her fingers plucked the strings tenderly. It quavered with nerves a bit as she started, but gained confidence as she picked up steam. I hadn't dreamed that she had such a good singing voice; her speaking voice was so quiet that no one would dream that she had that kind of voice hidden in her. The amount of feeling in her voice suggested that she really was in Ireland and was inviting us to come see the beauty that resounded there.

_Come by the hills to the land where legend remains_

_The stories of old fill our hearts and may yet come again_

_Where the past has been lost and the future is still to be won_

_And the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done_

_And the cares of tomorrow can wait till this day is done_

She finished and looked at us nervously "So, what did ye think?" she asked.

Paul and I stared at her for a second before we answered together "I think ya just earned yerself a spot in a band called Blessed Day."


	10. Chapter 10

**Ringo's POV**

I stretched and yawned, aware that someone had draped a blanket over me as I slept. I don't know why I fell asleep, I was just so tired after all the gigs we were doing. One might think I'd be used to it, but apparently I wasn't used to it enough. Blinking owlishly, I sat up, shaking my hair out of my eyes. Emily was sitting in the armchair next to the couch, strumming George's guitar. I noticed a plate of chocolate chip cookies sitting on the end table. I wanted to take one, but I didn't want to appear rude or draw attention to myself. God knew Emily and I didn't need to have another explosive confrontation. She saw that I was up and followed my gaze to the plate of sweets. She grinned sheepishly, picked up the plate, and offered it to me.

"Peace offering?" she asked tentatively, to use a cliché, walking on eggshells. I hesitantly took one "I just came to apologize," she said quickly, lest she lose her confidence "I was stupid fer not listenin' to ya." I munched on my cookie thoughtfully. I didn't really want to say anything, so I just nodded my head as a way of saying, _yes you should have. But I understand. Sort of. _

"An' I'm also sorry fer sendin' the wrong message to ya, even if it was unintentional," she continued. I held up my hand to stop her, this was definitely something I did _not _want to talk about. She started speaking even faster now, as though the sooner she got it off her chest, the better "It nearly killed me when my brothers left 'ome. When I met ya, it was like I'd found 'em again, except all their good traits were rolled into one person. If it seemed like I loved ya, I did, but I loved ya like an older brother, not romantically."

A tiny piece of my heart gave up the small hope that she had been about to tell me that she really loved me and she was sorry for toying with my emotions by having a love affair with John. I guess I was partially correct, then. Just like every other girl I'd met so far in my twenty-two years, Emily didn't have a romantic interest in me. The bit about me being like her big brother was at least mildly flattering, though "Same old story, innit?" I mumbled, too late realizing that I was thinking out loud. _Note to self: Keep thoughts to self. _Especially _personal ones. _A confused look stole across her face. Without meaning to, I answered the puzzled expression "The bloke at the back never gets the girl." _Oh, shit. Did I just think out loud again? Damn me and my big mouth._

"Ringo, believe me, any girl that squeals over yer "adorableness" or plays with yer emotions like I did doesn't deserve ya. Someday, a girl's gonna come along who loves ya for who ya are." I sat there, stunned. She smiled briefly, got up, and was gone. Now at least we didn't have any of those confusing emotions swirling between us anymore. We weren't friends again yet, not by a long, long shot, but who knew? Anything could happen.

**John's POV**

I got up to set my guitar back in its case, retrieved my notebook from where it lay on the bedside table, and started to jot the beginnings of a song down. I was so absorbed in my writing that I didn't hear the door open and shut. In fact, I only became aware that there was someone else in the room when the opposite side of the bed depressed as another human weight was added to it. It was Paul.

"I fucked this up pretty badly, didn't I?" I spoke without looking up. I wasn't really asking, I was stating an unfortunate fact. Paul made no attempt to respond, he just sat at the other end of the bed and focused on his hands. I knew he was listening sharply, but he didn't speak.

"I talked to Cynthia," I kept talking, my voice an emotionless monotone "Julian was runnin' a fever an' wouldn't stop cryin'. I asked her to put the phone next to him an' I sang to 'im. 'E stopped cryin' an' Cyn said he fell asleep." Emotion was starting to invade my tone, making my voice raise a little "Paul, why am I such a bloody rotten dad? Why can't I be better than me father and actually get to know me son before 'e grows up an' tries to forget about me? I try to forget about me dad, and I know if I was Jules, I'd try to forget about me." Stupid, hot tears stung the corners of my eyes. _Damn it, John. Do _not_ cry, you pathetic bastard. _Paul continued in his silence. I'd finally run out of things to say, so we just sat there for awhile, not saying anything.

Finally, I spoke up "Thanks, Paul." he nodded his head slightly, a wordless _you're welcome_, and walked out of the room. A mark of a true friend was knowing when to just listen to your friend and not offer anything but the gift lending an ear. Paul had that down pat. I guess we all did. It was a crucial thing when you're as close to three other people as we were.

**Emily's POV**

The next few days went by without incident. It was now February 5th, two weeks into the boys' gig. John, Ringo, and I were still a bit wary of each other, but nothing happened and we got along without incident.

They were in the kitchen eating breakfast, and I was cleaning up their rooms. This was done every day, sometimes multiple times in one day. I loved them all dearly, but they were such _slobs!_ Upon discovering a plate of God-knew-what under the night table in Paul and John's room, I shouted "Would it _kill _you guys not to eat in yer rooms? That's what the kitchen is for!" muffled giggling issued from the kitchen "Childish," I mumbled under my breath, fighting off a smile. A yell of surprise and subsequent shouts of laughter brought me running into the kitchen to see what had just happened. George sat in his chair, hair dripping with an unidentifiable substance. The rest of them were slumped over in their chairs with laughter.

"Wot the—" I exclaimed in surprise, boy, you leave the room for five seconds with these boys and you miss a _lot! _"Could someone _please_ tell me what the 'ell I just missed?" I had to wait a few minutes before the giggling subsided enough for coherent words to come out.

"I'll tell ye wot ya just missed!" George whined, wiping his sodden hair out of his eyes "_That_ bugger," he pointed an accusatory finger in Ringo's direction, who made a, _who, me? _face "Dumped orange juice on me poor, innocent little 'ead!" Innocent was not exactly my word choice when it came to describing these four fellows.

"Right," Ringo retorted, still fighting off the giggles "Puttin' salt on me strawberries instead of sugar is innocent!"

A grin touched my lips. They never failed to make me laugh "Well, this is a change. Paul and John are actually—" While listening to Ringo and George's interesting little story, I had failed to notice Paul and John get up to put their dishes in the sink. Had I seen this, I would have been suspicious. I felt something cold trickle into my hair and down my neck "They just poured something on my head, didn't they?" George and Ringo cracked up, slaves once again to the all-powerful master that is laughter. I turned to see Paul and John rolling on the floor, overcome by a serious bout of the giggles "It's lucky that yer all cute," I threatened, walking off to the bathroom, hiding a smile. I came to the conclusion that my hair had also been doused in orange juice, due to the fruity odor that kept tickling my nostrils.

I took a shower and changed into some clothes that didn't smell like orange juice. Blessed day was scheduled to arrive later in the day. They would be staying in the hotel across the street and down a bit. Both bands had a performance later in the night.

After finishing the cleaning of the kitchen, I plopped down on the couch with a book. I'd hardly had time to immerse myself in it when someone decided that my feet would be an excellent place on which to sit. I gave myself one guess and when I looked up I was right; it was Paul. Who else? Who else had determined that he had the express permission to annoy the heck out of me whenever he saw fit? Only Paul.

"Ow!" I yelped. Paul was a lot bigger than me, and by default, quite a bit heavier "Dammit, yer killin' me legs! I can't feel 'em!" I tried to kick him off me, but to no avail. My legs had no chance against the backside of Paul McCartney. He chuckled, sliding off so he was sitting on the floor. I made a show of sighing in relief and rubbing the feeling back into my feet.

"Sorry luv, but yer takin' up the whole couch!" he protested. I looked pointedly at the armchairs only a mere few inches from the couch that I was seated upon.

"Paul, please tell me there're at least _some _brains under all that 'air." he smoothed his already impeccable hair self-consciously and shot me a glare.

"I was _gonna_ ask ya if ya wanted to go dancin' with us an' Sarah's band after our gigs, but since yer bein' so cheeky—" I flicked his nose and he scrunched up his face at me.

"Well, if ya want me to go so bad I will, but I warn ye. I can't dance to save me life!" Paul laughed at me, ruffling my hair "Wot? It's the truth!" I insisted. And it was, I was an extreme klutz and avoided dancing at all costs, fearing a fall on my face was looming around the next corner.

A knocking on the door sounded. My hair was still mussed from where Paul had ruffled it, so I smoothed it down on my way to the door. A group of people stood crowded in the narrow hallway.

A woman with stylish clothes, medium-length, wavy brown hair, and a very familiar smile spoke "Would this 'appen to be the place where a band known as the Beatles is stayin'?" Now I knew what this grin reminded me of, or rather whom.

"It is," I responded "And would you be Sarah Lennon, sister of the cheekiest rhythm guitarist I've ever met?" she laughed then, a big hearty sound that was infectious.

"Aye, that I would," she said with a comical curtsy "D'you mind if me band an' I come in?" I shook my head and waved them inside.

"Not at all. Come 'ead, I'll get the boys." I stepped aside so they would all fit through the door frame, turned, cupped my hands around my mouth, and shouted "BOYS!" Chuckles escaped the lips of the band members behind me.

The boys came skidding around the corner in their socks and crashed to a halt, tumbling over each other in their haste to be first. They then snapped clean salutes "Present, Sergeant Scott sah!" they chorused. I cast them a stare of irritation and they snickered into their hands like a bunch of schoolboys caught writing obscene things on the chalkboard.

"As ya can see, they're not the most mature lot, but they can sing," I grinned "Sort of." cries of protest ensued and the result was that Paul pounced on me, mercilessly tickling my sides. He, much to his great delight, had discovered that I was extremely ticklish a few days earlier. This was the first time he'd been "forced" to use that knowledge against me "Ack! Paul, cut it out!" I choked through my laughter.

"Take it back!" he ordered, ignoring my pleas and continuing to make me shriek and giggle helplessly.

Finally, I gave in "Fine, I take it back, now get OFF me!" he relinquished his hold on me and I gasped for air, holding my aching sides. Everyone was chuckling, I was pretty sure everyone in Sarah's band knew Paul as well, and knew of his many antics.

Sarah laughed "They 'aven't changed a bit, I see. John, still cheeky and insolent, are ya?" she questioned.

He nodded proudly "Would ye expect anything less?" Sarah rolled her eyes and hugged her older brother, smacking a big kiss on his cheek "Bleargh, sister germs!" he complained, scrubbing at the evidently "affected" area with his hand.

"I suppose some introductions are due," Sarah said "You've met me already. This is Fergus McGinty, our drummer." A boy with light blond hair and sparkling, pale eyes waved at me and grinned "This is Lucy Welsh, one of our vocalists." Lucy smiled at me, she had short-ish, loosely curly black hair and dark green eyes "Maggie Jones, one of our other vocalists." the aforementioned girl with long, light brown hair and deep brown eyes gave me a shy smile "And this is Aaron Michaelson, our rhythm guitarist." Aaron's face split into a wide smile. He had dark brown hair and light green eyes that had the same sparkle that the boys' did so much of the time. One could only call it mischievous "I play bass," Sarah continued "Maggie and Lucy don't play any instruments, but we all sing."

I felt that now would be an appropriate time to introduce myself "Me name's Emily. Emily Scott." I said. Paul chose this moment to make a show of tip-toeing over to Sarah and whispering something in her ear exaggeratedly. Her eyes lit up.

"No kiddin'? She does?" she asked, looking at me. I swallowed a groan. I was willing to bet George's guitar, and the only reason I'd do something that drastic was if I was sure I was right, that he'd just told her about my guitar playing. _Traitor,_ I thought at him, attempting to telepathically berate him. He caught my stare, and this was enough to get my thought across. He shot me an innocent look. Innocent, my sweet patootie.

"I s'pose I don't have a choice now, do I?" I asked. Everyone shook their heads. I sighed in resignation.

I sat down on one of the chairs and George plunked his guitar into my hands. My fingers started to shake, but I calmed myself with a few deep breaths. For the sake of safety, I repeated my performance of _Come by the Hills._ When I finished, no one spoke. Even though it didn't last long, the silence made me edgy and gave me the ants-in-the-pants feeling.

"Wot? Was I really that awful?" I asked nervously.

Fergus' face creased into a smile "No, lass!" he exclaimed, making me realize that he was Irish "That was great!" his accent reminded me of my Grandpa. Sarah nodded her approval.

"Now we know ya can sing, and pretty darn good too. Can ya do any fast numbers, though?" I pondered this. I knew a lot of the classic rock and roll numbers, but I hadn't played a lot of them for awhile.

"Well, I could do _Roll Over Beethoven_," I suggested. It was one of my personal favorites, thankfully Michael and Ben liked it too. We'd often sit in my room and sing it when we had a spare moment. If it was on the radio, we'd come skidding into the room and crowd around the wireless, fighting for the best spot. Words of encouragement came from all sides of the room.

My fingers danced on the fretboard, plucking out the chords that I knew so well. As I started to sing, George joined in quietly. I shot him a grin of recognition and jerked my head as if to say, _sing louder. _He took the hint and started to sing out more. This was the first time I'd ever heard George sing. The last time I'd gone to see them with Mo, he hadn't been able to sing due to a sore throat. He had a great voice, mostly because it was so distinct. Out of the four, his Scouse came through the strongest when singing. It felt so good to be playing this song again, it brought back a wave of memories of the few happy times that I'd had in my childhood. Somehow, George's singing helped to reinforce the feeling.

A smile twitched the corner of Sarah's mouth up "I think we 'ave a lead guitarist at last, wot d'you lot think?" she posed the question to her band. They adopted pensive countenances for a long moment, and then enveloped me in an enormous group hug with shouts of congratulations. My face felt as though it was in danger of splitting in two from the huge smile on it.

Soon though, my joy evaporated. I'd just remembered about my crippling stage fright "I don't know quite 'ow to put this, but I've got the biggest case of stage fright you've ever seen." They shrugged, surprising me with their unperturbed nature.

"Mags 'ere, she 'ad to sing offstage fer the longest time 'cause she'd freeze up at the very thought of an audience." Maggie blushed a light pink and nodded. She seemed to be nearly as shy as George was when I first met them "Ya could sing fer us, so I think yer gonna be be just fine with a little practice. Since yer so new though, and don't know any of our songs, we're gonna use a stand-in fer one more night. Once ya 'ave a chance to jam with us a little, you'll be our permanent guitarist."

Paul gave me an, _I told you so,_ look. This all felt surreal. I was working for the Beatles, and now I was in a band? It was all almost too much.

"I remembered that I hadn't called Mo up yet "I'll be right back!" I called over my shoulder, running off in search of the telephone. When I found it, I nearly dropped the receiver in my haste to dial the familiar number. I listened to the ringing tone and waited for someone, hopefully Mo, to pick up.

"'Ello?" A voice picked up.

"Hi, Mo. It's Emily." The size of Mo's gasp suggested that she had nearly just inhaled the phone in surprise.

"Em?" she shrieked "How 'ave ya been? How's workin' fer the—why am I even askin'? Yer probably 'avin' the time of yer life!" Thinking it would ruin the mood, I decided not to tell her that already there were several times that my job had been less than a joyride.

"Yeah," I replied "It's pretty gear. Listen, they've got a gig tonight an' then we're going dancin'. D'you think you can make it?" I gave her the location of the club and the time that the boys would be playing.

Mo rifled through some papers, probably a train schedule and some other things that were in the way "...If I catch the next train, I'll be there with a couple minutes to spare." she responded. A sudden outburst from her end surprised me "Wot am I gonna _wear?_" she wailed into the phone "I'm sure that I don't 'ave a bloody thing in my closet!" I tried not to laugh at her distress, but it was a close thing.

"Just wear a nice dress," I said "But not too nice! It's just dancin', after all." she sighed.

"Yer right. Sorry about that, I'm just so nervous! They're such a popular band, with a recordin' contract an' everything!"

"Mo, believe me, they're just four normal, if not somewhat sillier than average boys." Maybe a lot sillier than average.

"Okay, I'll see ya." she said, but then added "Oh! Before I let ya go, ye should know that yer father is lookin' fer ya, an' he's not exactly what you'd call 'appy. 'E stopped at me 'ouse, demandin' to know where ya were. I told 'im I didn't know. When ya come back to Liverpool, just be careful, okay?"

I massaged my temples "Thanks for the heads-up, Mo. See ya later, yeah?" I hung up the phone. What did I expect? That he'd just forget about me? Maybe in my dreams.

At six, I started dinner. I made pasta with marinara sauce and bread. I had gotten accustomed to the mountainous amounts that Paul, George, Ringo, and John ate, but with two more hungry men and three more girls I was forced to make another entire batch of pasta.

After dinner, Blessed Day left to go down to the club so they could get some last minute practice in before the show. They were the first act of the night.

I stood in front of my section in the mass closet, trying to pick out something to wear. Most of the outfits I'd brought with me when I left home were practical, mostly due to the fact that I didn't own any really fancy dresses. My situation with shoes was the same.

I finally selected a black dress. It had thin straps and came down to mid-calf. It wasn't skin tight, but it wasn't huge and flowing either. More of a balance between the two. My nicest necklace was a plain, silver chain with a cluster of multicolored rhinestones on it. Unfortunately, it had an awful clasp, so I decided to put it on later. Then came the question of my hair. After fiddling with it in front of the mirror for awhile with not much success I pulled it back, and held it in place with a big clip, allowing several strands to fall freely in my face. Next, I brushed on some mascara, lined my eyelids with eyeliner, winging it out slightly at the outer corners, swept on some silver eye shadow, and dusted my cheeks lightly with blush.

Someone pounded on the bathroom door "'Urry up, would ye? We gotta get goin'!" Paul called.

"Don't get yer knickers in a twist, I'm comin'!" I gave myself one last check in the mirror, grabbed my necklace off the counter, and headed out of the bathroom. When Paul saw me, he sank into a low bow with the beginnings of a smirk on his lips.

"I'm not fit to be seen with a gorgeous lady such as yerself!" he declared. I rolled my eyes and dragged him upright.

"Really funny, Paul. Could I trouble ya to fasten my necklace for me?" I turned around and he clasped it around my neck.

"Seriously though, Em. Ye look lovely." I smiled, and noticed that he had his tie hanging loosely in his hand.

I sighed "Paul, would ya like me to tie yer tie?" he nodded gratefully and I tied it "Yer gonna 'ave to learn to do this sometime, y'know."

The others were waiting for us "About time!" John exclaimed "Paul, were ye pluckin' yer eyebrows again?" a perfectly quirked eyebrow and the trademark Lennon smirk went along with the accusation.

"I don't pluck me eyebrows!" Paul pouted, crossing his arms. I giggled with a shake of my head and tied the rest of their ties for them.

Ringo walked over to the door and opened it "Come 'ead, we're gonna be late!" I looked at the clock and realized it was true. I shooed the boys out the door to the waiting car. Once we arrived at the club, they went backstage to get ready and I scanned the crowds for Mo's familiar blond head. Finally, I saw her. She was standing at the back of the club, looking a bit overwhelmed. I tried to wade through the mass crowds of people to her.

"Mo!" I shouted. She looked up briefly, but came to the conclusion that someone else had the same name, and looked down again. I sighed, and then yelled again "Maureen Cox!" this time she saw me and waved to me, making her way through the throngs of people.

"Emily! Ye look great... isn't that my dress?" she asked. I looked down and with a shout of laughter realized that she was right; Mo and I were the same dress size and often shared clothing. We also sometimes forgot to give things back.

"So it is! Oops, sorry about that. You look great, too, and is that _my _dress?" Indeed it was. The dress was a deep green with short sleeves, a pleated skirt, and came to just above her knees. The first notes of a guitar sounded from the stage. Mo grasped my wrist and began to pull me toward the front.

"Come 'ead! They're startin'!" Blessed Day came onto the stage and started to play. Their music was somewhat more laid back than the acts to come, and we all swayed in time to the beat. Halfway through their third song, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped and just barely stopped a yelp from escaping. It was Neil.

"Christ, Neil! Ye almost gave me a heart attack!" I gasped, hand over my heart. He gave me an apologetic look.

"Sorry 'bout that. Could ya come backstage? George is 'avin' some kinda panic attack. 'E won't move and he's shakin' like a leaf." I frowned. He was shy, certainly, but he didn't seem like the type to be subject to a case of the nerves.

"Okay, I'll be right there." I touched Mo's shoulder to get her attention "Mo? I've gotta scoot backstage, George's got a bad bout of nerves, apparently." she made a sympathetic face.

"'Ope he's okay," she said as I picked my way through the crowd to get to the backstage door.

When I got back there, they'd gotten George sitting in a chair. He stared straight ahead and his hands shook like saplings in a thunderstorm. I went over to him and got down to eye level. I felt his forehead, peered into his eyes, and checked his pulse. It was wild and erratic "How much has he 'ad to drink?" they gave me quizzical looks "Not alcohol, how much liquid 'as he had today?"

"Y'know, when I think about it," Ringo said slowly, "I don't think he's 'ad anything since this mornin'!"

"That's why 'e's like this. Severe dehydration messes with yer 'ead and gives ya irrational thoughts." The same thing had happened to Ben several years back when he was too scared to leave his room, save for a few trips to the bathroom across the hall.

"Could someone go get 'im something to drink?" John immediately stood up and went to go look "Make sure it's water!" I called after him.

I put my arm around George's shoulders and rubbed his back. He didn't show any signs that he recognized that I was there, or that any of us were there. A few minutes later, John came hurrying back with a glass of water balanced carefully in his hands. He gently placed it in George's hands and helped him bring it to his lips. John might have teased George mercilessly sometimes, but I could tell that he always felt as though George was like a little brother. Slowly, George began to come around, although he was still pale and drawn.

Brian came over to us "You're on, boys. George, are you okay to go on?" he asked. George nodded and stood up, testing his balance with a few baby steps.

Before they went onstage, George turned to me and gave me a hug "Thanks, Em." I grinned up at him.

"Not a problem, go play some good music, yeah? And drink more fluids from now on, okay?" he waved his guitar at me before going on stage. He was a little pale yet, but he was good to go. I shouldn't have been surprised, but they were phenomenal. The only problem was that you could hardly hear them over the screams of the hysterical teenage girls. Once they were done with their set, we went looking for a place to go dancing.

A small pub that had music drifting out of it seemed like a good option. We went inside and found some tables. Ringo immediately asked Mo if she wanted to dance. She turned a deep crimson and agreed. Soon, they were lost among the crowd of dancers. I tried to watch them, but I couldn't see around the multitudes of people.

"Hey, Emily?" I looked up to see George standing there "D'you want to dance?" I shook my head with a laugh.

"I don't dance, George, sorry. I've got two left feet and it's catastrophic if I'm so much as near a dance floor!"

"Oh, c'mon! It'll be fun!" he grabbed my hands and pulled me into the crush of bodies. _Twist and Shout _started to play "I guess they saw us come in," George chuckled as John took a bow from his place at the bar. He was talking up a girl, but what else was new? At first, I was a bit hesitant to dance, fearing a misplaced foot would send me flying, but I started to get into it. When he wasn't singing along, George had a big, crooked smile on his face. After _Twist and Shout_ finished, Ben. E. King's _Stand by Me _came on. George gently took my hands and placed them around his neck, putting his own around my waist. I loved this song as well, my mum had sung it to me a lot when I was younger. Slowly, we drifted closer together until my head was resting on his chest and his face was in my hair. He smelled really good, a mixture of cologne, cigarettes, and something I couldn't identify. I felt safe in his arms.

When the song ended, he glanced down at me and the moment was broken. I felt self-conscious and pulled away, hurrying back over to the table and leaving George standing in the middle of the dance floor.

My emotions were all muddled up. Would I ever be able to make sense of them?


	11. Chapter 11

**Ringo's POV**

I allowed my mind to drift among the clouds and back to Liverpool where a lovely young woman by the name of Maureen was currently residing. She was funny, smart, had a great laugh, and was an all-around wonderful person to be around. We had a lot in common, I'd learned. We both wanted to be hair stylists, my career got in the way and she was still in school. Plus, and this was a big one, she liked my dancing. And she meant it. Not many people could say that with a straight face. Let it be known, I was not exactly the best dancer in the world. She just seemed to like me for, well, _me._

"Ringo, due to the glazed-over look in yer eyes, I'd say yer mind is on something," Paul startled me out of my reverie and brought my thoughts crashing back to earth "But the lazy smile suggests that said something may be a someone. Perhaps a someone of the female persuasion?" he wiggled his eyebrows at me comically "Care to share who's captured yer thoughts so thoroughly?"

"That friend of Emily's, Maureen." I replied.

"So _that's _who ya were dancin' with!" Paul exclaimed "Wot's she like? I never got the chance to talk to 'er cause she was dancin' with a certain drummer fellow."

"She wants to be a hairdresser, she's funny, she's pretty, an' she doesn't mind my dancin'!" Paul made a shocked face, he too knew that tolerating my dancing was a Herculean feat in itself, never mind _liking _it. I stuck my tongue out at him childishly, but I also couldn't prevent a dreamy sigh from escaping my lips. I plastered my hand over my mouth with a mortified expression and Paul snickered at my lovestruck countenance.

"Would I be so bold as to assume our Ritchie is in love?" asked George. He'd come into the room just in time to hear my last statement and hear my girly sigh.

"Why, I do believe so." said Paul in a posh voice "Any plans to tie the knot?" he taunted. I shot him an irate stare.

"Not quite yet, no. I'm takin' 'er to dinner when we get back to Liverpool." Just the thought of a date with Maureen make my stomach flip-flop like the floor had just dropped out from beneath my feet.

George plunked himself into a chair, and it appeared as though I wasn't the only one a million miles away today. He stared intently at his hands, as though the held the meaning to life itself. George was often quiet and pensive, but this seemed like a different type of pensive somehow.

"Looks like I'm surrounded by lovestruck fools today," Paul commented, "Who captured yer 'eart, Georgie?" He blushed right to the roots of his hair and mumbled something unintelligible. We'd all gotten pretty fair at deciphering inebriated Scouse, but hadn't had much of a chance to comprehend embarrassed-beyond-belief Scouse.

"Wot was that?" Paul teased the lobster-hued Beatle.

"I said I was thinkin' about Emily." This time the mumble was somewhat more audible and the color of his face was now giving the aforementioned girl's hair a run for it's money in terms of vibrancy.

"There's been a lot of that goin' around lately," I said in an offhand sort of way. George immediately shot me an apologetic look, but I didn't need it. If I wasn't misreading my own emotions, I'd moved on. Another girl occupied the majority of my thoughts now. I waved the look off "S'okay. I'd worry more about John if I were ye, Geo. Speakin' of John, where _is _he?"

"Dunno," Paul shrugged "'Aven't seen him since last night. 'E was talkin' up some barmaid. He'll be back in three, two," he predicted. Right as he said _one, _the door opened and a pained looking John staggered in. He gingerly closed the door and tried to go quietly to his room. His sudden appearance didn't go unnoticed, though.

"'Ey, Johhny!" said Paul jovially. John winced and put his hands to his ears in a feeble attempt to block out sound.

"Sod off, will ye?" he croaked "Me 'ead's poundin' like Ringo's drums." It became clear that John was the not-so-proud owner of a killer hangover. He opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it rapidly as his face turned a nasty green color. He took off in the direction of the bathroom and the sounds of him being violently sick echoed nauseatingly back to us. Emily came dashing out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.

"That was John, wasn't it?" she didn't have to wait for an answer when she saw the rest of us standing there looking mildly repulsed. It wasn't anything new, John got hangovers a _lot._ Hell, so did the rest of us, though. She ran back into the kitchen and reemerged with a glass of water and a bottle of asprin balanced precariously in her hands. While she was delivering these items to John, I asked George a question.

**George's POV**

I watched Emily run in the direction of the bathroom to give John a means to alleviate his hangover somewhat.

Ringo cleared his throat in the way that asks for attention "George?" he asked "How long 'ave ya fancied Emily?" the dreaded heat of a blush crept up the back of my neck. Paul leaned forward so as to not miss my answer. I glared at him.

"Since I met 'er," I confessed, wanting nothing more than to sink between the floorboards, never again to return.

"As I recall, yer meetin' wasn't exactly what ya could call conventional," Ringo chortled. Of course he'd just _had _to bring that up. I buried my head in my hands in embarrassment.

"At least ya didn't get deported from Hamburg for "arson"." Paul pointed out, making heavy air quotes around the word _arson_. I hadn't heard about that until after the rest of them had gotten back.

"I think I 'eard about that," said Ringo. He had still been with Rory Storm at the time that we'd been in Hamburg. Paul rolled his eyes. When the news had gotten around that he and Pete Best had set fire to a condom in one last, grand "fuck you" statement, Paul had just about died of mortification.

"No, but I _did_ get deported fer bein' underage," I said "Not even my fault, it wasn't! You blokes corrupted me innocence, that's wot ye did." I teasingly accused. Paul pulled a face at me.

I got up "I'm gonna go get me guitar, some of the chords in Love Me Do got a little screwed up on my account." To get to my room, I had to pass the bathroom. Emily still stood in the doorway, looking like she was about to leave.

"Why are ya 'elpin' me?" I heard John croak weakly, most likely still huddled miserably over the toilet "I was a bloody bastard to ya."

"That wasn't all yer fault, it was as much me as it was you. An' ya needed 'elp, so I gave it." Her voice was soft. She turned away from the door and gently eased it shut so John could have a little privacy in his misery. When she looked up to see me, she started "Oh, hi, George."

"How do ya stand it?" I inquired "John gets the worst hangovers ever. It ain't a pretty sight." I ran my hand over the neck of my guitar.

"Nothing I 'aven't seen before," she responded quietly, shrugging. I so desperately wanted to tell her how I felt about her, but I didn't dare.

"Something on yer mind?" she asked, catching my pensive stare. I almost said it. Almost told her I loved her. But I didn't.

"Nah," I said, shaking my head no "Just tryin' to remember which chords I messed up on last night."

"Oh, well, okay." somehow, I got the feeling that she didn't believe me. Once she left, I began to shape the notes of a song that we hadn't played in awhile. I sang under my breath.

"Do you want to know a secret..."

**Emily's POV**

I was scheduled to be at the hotel where Blessed Day was staying at noon. The hotel manager had kindly given us use of the basement of the building.

I got my things together, but there was something missing. It took me a moment that was much longer than probably necessary to realize that I was about to walk out to a band practice in which I played guitar _without _a guitar. _Well, _somebody's _a little out of it today_, I admonished myself.

Thinking that getting a guitar would probably be a good idea, I walked back into the suite in search of George. He sat in a chair, strumming his Rickenbacker gently. Even on stage, he was so absorbed in his playing there wasn't much of a difference in his mannerisms while practicing. It had come to my attention that whenever he was concentrating especially hard on something, his mouth dropped open just a touch. His eyes were closed now and his fingers gently caressed the strings to make them sing sweetly. I didn't want to disturb him, but I didn't want to be late, either.

"George?" I gently touched his shoulder, making him jump "Sorry," I apologized.

"No, it's okay." he said, shifting the guitar a little "Wot can I do ya fer?" he asked in a poor imitation of a cowboy accent.

"I 'ave a bit of a favor to ask ya," I said "Could I borrow yer acoustic today? I've got me first practice an' I don't think it'd go over very well if I showed up without a guitar."

He got up "Yeah, of course. I'll go get it for ya." he disappeared into his shared room of the suite. While he was gone, Paul showed up.

"On yer way to rehearsal?" he asked. I nodded, trying to ignore the flurry of butterflies clamoring around in my stomach "Good luck, yer gonna be gear." he put his hand on my arm. I grinned gratefully at him. Paul somehow always knew how to make me feel better.

"Thanks, Paul." George came back with the guitar in a case. I took it from him and gave him a hug of thanks. Sparks coursed through me wherever our bodies touched, making my face heat up. I hastily turned away to head out the door, lest I betray the glowing blush on my cheeks.

"Lemme walk ya." offered Paul suddenly.

"Okay, that'd be nice," I said, thankful for the company. We put our coats on and went out the door. Paul was silent until we made it out of the building and into the icy, bitter winter air.

"Wot d'you think of George?" he asked abruptly. The question surprised me quite a bit and it was a minute before I could string a sentence together.

"Well, I think 'e's a nice, talented, funny—" Paul cut me off with a roll of his eyes like I was deliberately avoiding his question.

"How thick _are _ya?" he asked incredulously.

I whacked his arm with my free hand "Not as thick as you! I answered yer question, why're ya givin' me that look?"

"No ye didn't," he insisted. I opened my mouth to protest, but he forged ahead "I asked, wot d'you _think_ of _George?" _He emphasized, widening his eyes for affect. His meaning came through crystal clear and my face burned crimson.

"Paaaul," I whined, edging around the uncomfortable question. He gave me a look "I honestly don't know," I confessed, throwing my hands up in the air in confusion "I think I might feel something fer 'im, but I'm _scared,_ Paul." My voice dropped to a whisper "I don't want it to turn out bad again. I'm _scared _to get hurt again." We were in the entryway of the hotel now.

He tipped my chin up "I wouldn't let George 'urt ya, I'd cripple him!" he declared, making me laugh "It's all gonna go just fine."

"How d'you know?" I asked skeptically. Obviously, Paul was no mind-reader.

He suddenly grinned and tweaked my nose "Reasons," he sang childishly, skipping away and swinging his arms.

"James Paul McCartney!" I pulled the I'm-so-mad-I'm-using-your-full-name-be-scared tactic "You are the most bloody irritating person I've had the misfortune to meet!" I yelled after his retreating and laughing form. I just couldn't keep the laugh out of my voice though. I'd found it impossible to be mad at Paul for too long. It just didn't work.

I wandered into the hotel and searched for a sign or a person that could point me in the right direction. A middle aged, thin, balding man stood at the front desk. He saw my guitar case and smiled brightly "Ya with that band, Blessed day is it?" I nodded, grateful for his willingness to help "Down those stairs an' to the left, luv." He pointed at a stairwell.

"Ta," I smiled and waved on my way over to the stairs. The sound of instruments being played drifted through the hallway and it wasn't very hard for me to locate the source of the music. I swallowed a sudden rush of nerves that left my knees nearly knocking together and shifted the guitar case to the side so I could open the door.

Maggie sat closest to the door. She was in mid-conversation with another band member who was out of my line of vision. The sound of the door creaking open reached her ears and she turned to see me "'Ey, Emily! Ready to learn some music?"

I came into the room "You bet." Sarah sat somewhat farther in, her fingers dancing delicately over the strings of her bass and making it sing. She had much the same face of concentration that her brother did. Intently focused, yet relaxed.

After striking a final note, she looked up "Ya here to play some music?" she asked.

I grinned "That's the general idea, yeah."

"We've mostly been doin' covers of songs," Lucy explained as I unpacked George's guitar "We _can _write, but we're still sorta honin' our skills, y'know? We try to write our songs as an entire group so there's more creative input. But fer now, our sets are just covers." I nodded in understanding. Writing songs was not an easy process by any stretch of the imagination. I had tried numerous times to write music, but usually it turned out not making sense, or was much, much too cheesy.

Aaron peeked over my shoulder as I finished unpacking George's guitar "That's George's guitar, innit?"

"Yeah," I replied "I don't 'ave me guitar anymore an' I haven't 'ad time to go shoppin' fer a new one."

Thankfully, I was a fast learner and after three-and-a-half hours I was able to play all of their songs reasonably well. Some of the harder chord sequences were a bit shaky, but it was nothing a little more practice couldn't fix. We discovered that my voice blended nicely with theirs, which was helpful when singing a three-part harmony version of _Amazing Grace. _Lucy and Maggie sang the top part, Sarah and I took middle, and Fergus and Aaron covered the bottom part.

We sat around for awhile, making idle conversation. The band that I now found myself a part of was easy to make conversation with, they were quite laid back and friendly. I was going over some chords that were still giving me trouble and Fergus doodled around on his kit. Something about the pattern that he was playing struck a chord in me.

"Oi, Fergus! Could ye slow that _way _down?"I called over in his direction. He obliged, taking the tempo down several notches. Sarah fiddled with her bass for several minutes and came up with a bass line that meshed with the drum cadence almost perfectly.

"Maybe if ya slow the first bit down and syncopate the next bit it would sound even better," Aaron suggested, experimenting with some rhythm sequences on his own guitar.

Maggie grabbed a notepad and hunted around for a pencil. Once she had a writing implement in her hand she said "Fergus, could ya play yer drum pattern again, please?" he tapped it out again, pausing when Maggie told him to, and she wrote it down "Sarah, could ya do yours now?" Her nimble fingers plucked out the bass line again. Maggie's pencil went back into action, scribbling the notes down as fast as legibly possible, asking Sarah to stop and repeat certain parts now and then "Aaron, could ye play yours?" He strummed the pattern easily and melodically.

I strummed George's guitar with great concentration, picking out a melody that went well with the rest of the song thus far. Maggie's pencil followed my thought process.

"I'm the only one who reads and writes music in the group," she explained.

Lucy tipped her head thoughtfully "It sounds like an angry song, but also a bit sad, y'know?" It reminded me of my dad and the many forms of abuse he had imposed on my family.

"Makes me think of John's dad," Sarah mused, looking a little sad and distant. John had told me the little that he knew about his father, Alfred Lennon. If you could call him that.

"So Freddie wasn't yer—" she shook her head no.

"I'm a year younger than John. Never met me dad. 'E was some soldier that Mum 'ad a fling with while John's dad was away with the navy. Uncle George was the closest thing I 'ad to a dad." For the next hour we tinkered with the mechanics of the song, adding a lead guitar line and choosing lyrics for the melody. The lyrics drew from the pasts of Sarah and I, and to a much greater extent, John. When it came down to tweaking the musicality of the lyrics so they better fit the mood and the music, Lucy was the best one out of all of us.

I looked up at the clock "Oh, looks like I better get goin'!" I exclaimed "Dinner isn't gonna cook itself, y'know." Goodbyes were exchanged.

"If you've got the time, stop back down after dinner with the boys an' we'll show 'em the song." Sarah offered. It made me nervous, as John and Paul were already quite accomplished songwriters, but it sounded like it would be a good idea.

"Okay, I'll keep that in mind." I said on my way out the door.

When I got back to the hotel, John was sprawled on the couch with the TV turned down to a low murmur. He was staring at it, but the glassy look in his eyes said that he wasn't taking a second of it in. Without tearing his eyes from the screen that he wasn't even watching he said "Ya don't 'ear this very often comin' from me mouth, but I'm sorry." I blinked several times in confusion; John saying he was sorry? This was odd. Very odd.

"I'm sorry too, John. I shouldn't 'ave flipped me lid like that." A beat passed in silence again, and then he turned to me with the beginnings of a smile forming on his lips. He got up, walked over to me, and stuck out his hand for a handshake. I craned my neck to look up at him, a quizzical smile curving one side of my mouth up.

"Friends?" he inquired. I grinned and pulled him into a hug.

"Friends," I agreed.

After dinner I went back down to the hotel, this time accompanied by the boys.

"Are we gonna show them the song?" asked Fergus when all greetings had been exchanged.

"Wot song?" Paul asked. I explained to them that we had written a song today and that we were going to show it to them, that is, if they didn't mind? Once we received the go-ahead, I picked up George's guitar and we began to sing a song entitled _Dad._

_You were such a wonderful father_

_wait my bad you didn't bother to be a dad._

_My memory is confused._

We all sang the opening part together, sinking into the emotion of the song.

_I do recall you chugging a bottle._

_You would drink and stagger and wobble. _

_I did that same thing, of course I was two. _

I started the solos, the next part was mine. I was the only one of the group who had a dad, if you could call him that, with a major drinking problem.

_At times you were so hard to find when we played hide and seek._

_You'd run and hide from all of us, one time we searched for one week._

Lucy sang this next bit, her high pitched and pure voice expressing the emotion of a child who has a parent that is often AWOL, but feels more lost than said parent more often than not.

_Why were we a part of your agenda_

_if you never planned to even spend a _

_minute with us? Give me more than a shrug. _

_Go on and do what you do._

_Grab your comfort and chug._

_You were lost and needed direction_

_stumbled onto younger affection with no regard _

_for my mother back home._

_Your arrogance is what got you busted_

_leaving us alone and disgusted, that's my old man!_

_Way to think with your dome. _

_Yeah, you broke our hearts and ripped them out of our home._

The next part was sung by Fergus, who had a wonderful, rich tenor voice. While we wrote this song, he mentioned that his father had left his family when he was six years old for another woman. And a floozy at that.

_You still try to justify, pretend this isn't real._

_FYI, you can't deny the scars and scabs that haven't healed. _

_You found a way to slice up our future, _

_wipe the blood and pack up the suture. _

_Dr. Daddy, do your damage and go_

_Before you head on back to your new life,_

_brand new kids and that shiny new wife,_

_There's one thing that I really must know. _

_Do you have some regrets? 'Cause I'm guessing it's no._

_It's getting late, I probably should go. _

Aaron and Maggie sang the next part together, as they had also had their fathers leave their homes, but they were teenagers at that point and a little more than resentful about it. I was starting to notice a startling trend amongst out group members.

_I don't understand how a father can_

_turn his back on his wife and his only son._

_Daddy please, explain to me, how a man can leave his family._

Fergus' voice was flooded with real emotion as he sang this part.

_I''m a father with my own children and you couldn't even imagine _

_all the lessons that my daddy taught me. _

Aaron was nearing thirty, and indeed did have his own children to look after, so he sang this part. It had the right amount of bitterness in it.

_Every time he sees a collision, he'll pass on with his tunnel vision._

_All his life, he's been refusing to see_

_that he killed our house and left us lost in debris._

_The thing that I learned from you,_

_is what not to be._

Sarah and I sang the last part, trading lines back and forth until I ended it with the "what not to be" line.

The song drew to a close and I noticed a hastily concealed tear on John's cheek. It probably brought back a lot of bad memories for him. I mouthed an, _I'm sorry._ To him. I'm sorry that your father left you. I'm sorry your childhood was less than a bundle of roses.

He looked at me and his lips also shaped the words that hardly ever passed his lips. _I'm sorry, too. For you more than me._


	12. Chapter 12

******Emily's POV**

That night was the boys' last night at the gig. Blessed Day was staying for another week, but I had to go back due to my previous work obligation. I still couldn't believe that I was part of a band. Before their last performance, I packed all of their things. When it was done we grabbed the bags and boarded the return train. It was late, nearly midnight, and we all fell asleep on the ride back.

"Emily," a hand shook me back into wakefulness and I jumped. It was Brian "Sorry," he apologized "We're back. Could you help me wake the lads up? Mal and Neil are getting the luggage." I nodded sleepily and yawned.

Considering my options, I came to the conclusion that it would be the least dangerous to wake Paul up first. He lay sprawled out across a seat, one arm over his head "Paul," I whispered, shaking his shoulder. It took a few seconds, but he finally started to come to.

"Mmph, whassat?" he mumbled drowsily, easing himself into a crumpled sitting position.

"We're in Liverpool, it's time to get off the train." he yawned hugely and stood up, rumpling his hair as he stretched. It stuck up comically in the back and I stood on tiptoe to smooth it down for him.

Brian was in the middle of an unsuccessful attempt to rouse a dead-to-the-world Ringo. Waking Ringo was often a two person job. Waking John was a do so at your own risk job.

I decided to wake George up next, not wanting to confront a sleepy and irritable John. George lay curled up on one of the seats. His face was peaceful and his hair flopped into his eyes. He looked so comfortable that I felt a pang of regret as I touched his arm to wake him up.

"George, we're back," his face scrunched up and he tried to shield it in a feeble attempt to avoid waking up.

"No mummy, I don't wanna go to school," he whimpered, trying to push me away and fall back into dreamland.

"George, we're in Liverpool. I promise ya can sleep again, just get up." He heaved himself upright and rubbed his eyes with his fists like a small child. I was tempted to hug him, he was just so adorable, but I didn't.

A muffled thump and a sleepy torrent of swearing caught my attention. Paul stood at a safe distance across the train carriage from John as he picked himself up off the floor, grumbling halfheartedly. He caught my questioning glance and shrugged. Sometimes it was the only way to jolt John back into consciousness.

Now that they were all awake, it became my job to usher the four very sleepy Beatles out to the waiting car. Keeping them moving was the only problem; they all stumbled in a straight, zombielike line. This often necessitated me to grab one of their shoulders and redirect them so they wouldn't crash into anything or anyone.

Roughly five seconds after we got in the car they were out again. John slumped against the front window, Paul snored against one of the back windows, Ringo snoozed against the other, and George, having nowhere else to go, spilled across my lap. His hair tickled my arm, and without really thinking about it I started running my fingers through his thick, soft, wavy hair. I continued to do this until we arrived back at the house.

Once again, I had to rouse them from their slumbers. My eyelids felt heavy and grainy as we went slowly to the house. I ducked into a bathroom, slipped on my nightgown, and crawled into the nearest bed in my sleep-deprived delirium. What I didn't know at the time was that it was George's bed.

**George's POV**

When we finally got back, I was too tired to notice a multitude of things. Like the fact that I banged my toe on the doorway. I didn't even feel that until the next morning. However when I put on my pajamas—a pair of boxers and a short sleeved t-shirt—I _did _notice that there was someone fast asleep in my bed. The sprawl of red hair on the pillow gave it away; it was Emily. She probably hadn't even made the connection that it was my bed.

Not wanting to wake her, I gingerly climbed into the other side of the bed. I stretched out and was asleep within seconds.

The next morning I woke to the sun flooding my face. Squinting, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the light. As I woke up more, I became very aware of the fact that Emily had snuggled up against me during the night in an attempt to keep warm. She looked so peaceful and comfortable, I didn't want to get up and risk waking her up. So I did the only logical thing; I wrapped my arms around her waist, burrowed my face into her long, sweet-smelling hair, and fell back into a drowsy state that wasn't quite sleeping, and not quite waking. The sound of the door being carefully eased open made me crack my eyes open reluctantly. Paul crept into the room. He saw my eyes open.

"Sorry, Geo," he whispered "I can't seem to find me spare picks—" his gaze fell upon my arms around Emily and he grinned as he left, forgetting about the picks entirely "Go get 'er, son."

The moment didn't last too much longer than that. Emily started to stir and I felt it might be a bit more than a little odd if she were to wake up snuggled against me. I gently retracted my arms and slid out of the bed. Thinking that she would also wonder what exactly had happened the night before if she woke up in a strange bed with me only in boxers and a t-shirt, I pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a light blue shirt. I had barely buttoned up my shirt when her eyes drifted open and slowly blinked into focus.

She came upon the realization that she was not only in my room, she was _in my bed_ "Oh God! I'm so sorry! I shouldn't be 'ere." She stammered, scrambling out of the bed and making for the door, pink in the face.

I laughed and stopped her "Wot are ya apologizin' for? We got back at three in the mornin'! Ya needed a place to sleep and my bed was the first thing ye saw. I don't mind one bit." And wasn't that the truth. She relaxed visibly and pushed her hair out of her eyes where it had flopped in her small moment of near-hysteria.

"Guess I better get goin' on breakfast, yeah? Brian said you guys 'ave a recordin' session today." she stepped out of the room and descended the steps. I watched her go.

Slowly the smells of food drifted up the stairs. Almost simultaneously, Ringo and John's doors opened. One whiff of the food smells sent them running downstairs in their pajamas.

Paul was probably down there already, and now Ringo and John were too. _Maybe going downstairs now before all the food is gone wouldn't be such a bad idea, _I thought, making my journey down the stairs.

After breakfast, Paul, John, and Ringo got dressed and we left for the studio. Emily stayed behind, explaining that she wanted to practice some of Blessed Day's songs a little more. I left my acoustic behind for her to use. _We need to get that girl a new guitar soon, _I decided. This was in part for my own selfish benefit and also for her benefit: a new guitar would make her happy.

We didn't get a whole lot done in the studio that day. Paul and John had written a couple of new songs, but George (Martin, that is) thought they weren't strong enough to do well yet. So, we basically just fiddled around with the songs.

When we got back to the house, Ringo immediately made a beeline for the phone, muttering something about calling a girl. _It's probably Maureen, if someone so much as mentions her he gets __flustered._

**Ringo's POV**

My stomach was fluttering like mad when I finally got to the phone. It felt like it had become a living entity of it's own and was now making a bid for freedom. And then something hit me; something that would greatly impede the process of asking Maureen to dinner. I didn't know her phone number.

"Emily?" I called. She came into the room

"Wot is it?" she asked, coming over to stand next to me.

"I don't know Maureen's number,' I confessed, my face flushing. She laughed and wrote it down for me "Ta," I thanked her. She ruffled my hair as she left the room.

With shaking fingers, I dialed her number. A strange part of me didn't want her to pick up, and then I'd have an excuse to give up.

"'Ello?" I almost chickened out when her lovely voice echoed through the phone line, but I didn't.

"Hi Maureen, it's Richard." She wanted to know my real name when we were dancing, and decided that she liked it better than my stage name.

"Oh, hi! Might I ask to what I owe the pleasure of this unexpected phone call?" She joked.

_Just do it, Ringo. Just ask. You can do it _"Erm, I was wonderin', if you'd, um, I was wonderin' if you'd like to come to dinner with me tonight?" The last part of my poorly worded question exploded out of me in a rush.

There was an awful silence on the other end. For a moment, I was afraid that I'd offended her. But then she spoke "That sounds nice. I'd love to! When did ya 'ave in mind?" I grinned in relief.

"Are ya free tonight at seven-thirty by any chance?" I asked nervously, crossing my fingers in anticipation.

"I am," she replied.

I narrowly resisted the urge to jump for joy "I can pick ya up," I said "Where's yer 'ouse?" She gave me directions and said goodbye, hanging up.

Unable to keep a goofy grin from spreading across my face, I walked out of the room. Emily stood in the hallway and I got the feeling that she'd heard the entire conversation.

"'Ow much of that did ya 'ear?" I asked in mock-sternness, hands on hips. Her face broke into a wide smile.

"Oh, all of it," She sang innocently "'Ave fun tonight." she waggled her eyebrows at me suggestively. It took me a smidge too long to figure out what she was hinting at.

"Oh, hey now!" I protested, taking a swipe at her hair. She dodged me nimbly, laughing. I shook my head with a roll of my eyes. I wondered about that girl sometimes.

"A quick note if yer interested," she added "Mo likes purple tulips an' chocolate of any kind." she winked over her shoulder at me before leaving to go to the kitchen.

Six-thirty came much too soon, but not quickly enough all the same. I put on a clean suit, fiddling with it for the longest time in a vain attempt to get it to hang straight. When I was finally somewhat satisfied with the results, I ran a comb through my hair, trying desperately to make it lie flat. No matter what I did, a little bit of it stuck up behind my ear. I brushed it about a thousand times, even attacked it with a wet comb. Nothing worked. Knowing I would be late if I messed about with my hair any longer, I set the comb down with a sigh. I grabbed my tie, stepped into my shoes, and clattered down the stairs.

Emily stood at the foot of the steps "Tie, please," she instructed without missing a beat. I handed the article of clothing over and she looped it around my neck for me.

"Could ye loosen that?" I asked, feeling like my windpipe was being crushed. She steered me to a mirror to show me how loose it was.

"It's just yer nerves, luv." She said. Her eyes fell on the sodden piece of my hair and widened "Wot the 'ell did ye _do_ to yer hair?" I couldn't help it. I started to laugh.

"It wouldn't lie flat!" I said helplessly, putting my hands out in front of me. She swatted my arm.

"Stop foolin' about and get goin'!" For a moment I thought I was going to be late, I looked around wildly for a clock "Yer not gonna be late," she placated me. I shot her a glare and she backed up, hands in a gesture of submission.

I snagged my keys from the hook, remembering at the last second to grab my wallet from the counter. As I got in the car, my stomach started flip-flopping all over again.

On my way to Maureen's to pick her up, I stopped quickly at a florist's and a chocolatier. The florist recognized me as "That gear drummer from the Beatles" and I just barely got away without a mob following behind.

I pulled up to the house and sat in the car for a moment, trying to pull my nerves together. I got out of the car and with the bouquet and chocolates in my hands I made my way to the door. Raising my slightly shaking hand, I knocked lightly and waited.

A man answered the door "Good evenin'. May I ask why yer 'ere?"

"Good evenin' sir," I was fighting against a quaver in my voice "My name is Richard Starkey an' earlier today I invited Maureen to dinner." It felt so odd to use my real name.

The man's face creased into a friendly smile "Oh, so_ yer_ the one she's been goin' on about!" he turned from the doorway "Won't you come in?" I relaxed exponentially as I stepped inside.

Maureen came flying down the stairs "Dad, who's 'ere? Is it—" she saw me standing in the entryway "Hullo, Richard!" a lovely smile was on her face as she came up to me. She looked beautiful, her hair was carefully styled but still looked natural and she wore a light pink dress with a white trimmed neckline that made her look like she was glowing. She was wearing very little makeup which was good, she looked prettier without it in my opinion. I held the flowers and chocolate out to her.

"Oh, for me?" she exclaimed, putting her nose in the flowers and inhaling deeply "They're beautiful. An' purple tulips too, my favorite!" Mr. Cox went to get a vase to put the flowers in "The chocolates look wonderful." she hugged me and it felt like my insides had turned to caterpillars and were wriggling around in my midriff.

"Alright kids, let's save that." Mr. Cox came back into the room and we jumped apart "Now, she should be back home by ten, don't go to any sleazy clubs, don't go drinking—" Maureen cut her father's speech off before he could work up a good head of steam.

"Dad! Yer makin' a show of me!" she blushed "Richard's a very responsible man, I'll be fine." He nodded in the defeated way that fathers do after meeting their daughter's date. Maureen hugged her father, kissed his cheek, and I helped her into her coat. I held my arm out for her to take and we went out to the car together.

"Where are we goin'?" she asked as we drove down the road.

"It's a surprise," I responded vaguely with a wink.

"I like surprises," said Maureen, smiling her lovely smile. _I hope so,_ I thought.

Small conversation was exchanged until we arrived at the restaurant. When we got in the door, I slipped my hands over her eyes.

"Richard!" she exclaimed with a laugh, trying to pull my hands off her face.

"I did say it was a surprise, y'know." I chuckled.

"Hello, how may I help you?" a waitress appeared at the front desk.

"Could we 'ave a table for two please?" Being careful not to let Maureen overhear, I whispered some extra instructions into her ear and she nodded.

"It will be a few minutes. You can wait over there and I'll come get you when it's ready." I gently guided Maureen to a chair and helped her sit down.

"Can I at least 'ave a hint?" she begged.

"Nope."

"Please?"

"I thought you said you liked surprises!" I joked.

"I do, but now I'm curious!" A few minutes went by and then the waitress returned to tell us that our table was ready.

"Come 'ead, our table's ready." I said to her, assisting her in getting up.

She wobbled a little and clutched my arm tightly "Don't let me fall!" she yelped.

"I won't," I promised, carefully guiding her through the restaurant.

"Here's your table, I'll be back to get your orders shortly." The waitress said, leaving the little side room that we were now in.

"Ta," I thanked her. I sat Maureen down in a chair and removed my hands from her eyes. They grew wide as she took in the dimmed light and candles that cast a rosy glow over the neatly set table and the huge window that gave a picturesque view of the snow that had started to come down softly and the distant ocean. It was nothing ostentatious, but somehow it was better than a big, fancy, expensive restaurant.

"Oh, Richard," she sighed, a huge grin lighting up her face "It's beautiful!"

I was so glad that she liked it this much, I wasn't expecting a reaction like the one she was giving me "I'm glad ya like it," I said, sitting down in the chair opposite from her. The waitress soon came back and we ordered dinner. Again, it was nothing fancy, but it was more meaningful than a costly meal.

"I'm so 'appy that ye invited me to dinner, Richard," she said once she'd regained her breath from laughing at a story about one of John's many crazy antics.

"Me too," I agreed. There was no one else I'd rather be spending tonight with "Would ya call me Ritchie, though? Richard feels too formal, y'know?"

She nodded "I think I can do that. On the condition that ya call me Mo if ya feel like it." I smiled. _God, I love her smile._

We passed at least another hour at the restaurant, talking and laughing. I found myself trying to make her laugh as much as possible without coming off as an idiot just so I could hear that wonderful, tinkling laugh. It was sort of lilting and musical. Definitely music to my ears. During this time our hands had become entwined on the tabletop. When I had first taken her hand I feared that I had been too bold, but she simply squeezed my hand and continued on in the conversation. I glanced reluctantly at my watch. It was nine-thirty and I had promised her father that I would have her back home by ten.

"Looks like we'd better get movin', luv." I said regretfully, standing up and going around to her side of the table to pull her chair out for her.

I suppose so," she said. Outside, the snow had started to come down much more heavily and it was quite hard to see much more than a couple of yards ahead of oneself. This served as a perfect excuse to wrap my fingers around Mo's to make sure we stayed together.

Once we finally waded our way through the sone to my car we got in and I stuck the key in the ignition. It coughed and spluttered a few times feebly, but wouldn't start. The cold and the snow had stalled my little old junker. _When we get rich and famous, the first thing I'm gonna do is buy a decent car,_ I grumbled mentally to myself.

"So," I mumbled awkwardly "Fancy a walk?" In response to her questioning glance, I said "I'll call a tow truck later."

We got out of the car and I aimed a halfhearted kick at the stupid thing's front wheel. Unfortunately, it did nothing but make my toe sore. The blast of cold wind instantly made Mo press herself against me, attempting to draw some warmth from my body. We took small comfort from the slight warmth of each other's bodies.

Mo suddenly gasped in surprise and grasped my arm to steady herself. Lord only knew that falling face first in the snow would be just what we needed.

"Wot's wrong?" I asked, putting my hand on her arm.

"Me shoe fell off!" Looking down I saw that the snow had indeed claimed her shoe for it's own. Carefully balancing her on one side of me, I bent down and retrieved the shoe. It was covered with snow inside and out.

"I don't think yer gonna want this on yer foot again," I said and she agreed. The snow was rapidly getting deeper and it was difficult going on two feet, let alone one. Impulsively, I scooped her up in my arms. She stiffened with the unexpectedness of it.

"Ritchie, don't! I'm too heavy!" she protested.

I chuckled "Ya weigh less than a feather, don't worry." She put her arms around my neck and burrowed her face into my chest to shield it from the biting wind. I breathed in the sweet scent of her perfume.

Even with much struggling, we arrived at her house before ten. I set her down gently on the porch "'Ere's yer shoe," I said, handing the sodden little object.

"Thanks," she took it "I 'ad a really gear time, Ritchie. I really like you." My heart nearly jumped out of my chest.

"I like you, too." The dim porch light illuminated the soft contours of her face. I traced the soft skin of her cheek with my fingertips and before I knew what was happening I was kissing her soft lips. At first she seemed to be a bit shocked and I thought I'd just made the worst mistake of my life, but her lips moved against mine and we closed the little bit of space between us. She tasted sweet, like the strawberries we had for desert. After what seemed like simultaneously eternity and a second, she broke away.

"Night, Ritchie," she said, kissing my cheek and going into her house. I watched until I could no longer see her.

"Goodnight, Mo."


	13. Chapter 13

******Emily's POV**

The next morning I woke up early, got dressed, and went downstairs into the kitchen to start breakfast. I was just getting the pancakes started when Ringo shuffled in, announcing his presence with a monstrous yawn. Even though his eyes were hardly open and bleary, I could sense that his date had gone well.

"'Ave fun last night?" I asked, flipping a pancake over to finish cooking it on the other side. He smiled drowsily and nodded, plunking down at the table and resting his head on the tabletop for another few seconds of shut-eye. A short time later, John came in looking a little peaky.

"Mornin', John." Ringo and I greeted him. He managed a weak smile. Truth be told, John was never what one could call "perky" in the mornings, but he didn't usually look so wan "Wot's wrong?" I asked.

"My auntie called," he explained "She wants to meet ya." I shrugged unconcernedly at this new bit of news.

"Is that all?" I asked, somehow knowing it wasn't. Confirming my suspicions, John shook his head no.

"Cyn is livin' with 'er." I felt a pang in my stomach that was a little bit of nervous and a _lot _of guilt. I had very nearly done something of a rather serious and sensitive nature with her husband. I tried to shake the feeling off and get the twist out of my stomach, but it wouldn't go away.

Paul stumbled sleepily into the kitchen, running a hand through his hair "Mornin' all," he mumbled, dropping himself into the nearest chair and yawning hugely "Wot's fer brekkie?" He caught a whiff of the pancakes and brightened a little.

Halfway through breakfast, George still wasn't showing his face. John left to go get dressed and upon returning said "Geo _still _isn't up?" in a rather incredulous voice. George was a late sleeper, but since we were venturing upon a Mendips visit, I figured he should be given a little heads-up.

"I'll go get 'im," I volunteered. Paul shot me a look that I carefully ignored, making my way up the stairs. I gently pulled George's door open. He was tangled up in the sheets and his hair was flying every which way.

I walked over to him and lightly shook his shoulder. I felt sort of bad waking the poor guy up. He looked so comfortable "Waahhgh!" he shot up and his arms grabbed me around my middle and pulled me to the bed on top of him. A heart-stopping second passed, my bright green eyes staring into his warm brown ones. I disentangled myself from his grasp and jumped off the bed, feeling a blush creep onto my face.

"Sorry, surprise reflex." He mumbled, staring intently at his sock covered toes.

"S'okay," I waved it off "At least ya don't 'ave Ben's reflex. 'E punches people who wake him up." This was indeed the truth; there had been several unfortunate occurrences when I'd tried to wake him up and his fist made contact with my nose.

"If yer 'ungry, breakfast is ready." I offered. He grinned.

"Ye shouldn't even ask." he chuckled, his crooked smile setting off an armada of butterflies in my stomach as we descended the stairs. My face still showed traces of a blush. When Paul saw my face, he waggled his eyebrows suggestively at me. I scowled at his smug countenance and did the most mature thing I could think of; I stuck my tongue out at him.

I looked down in distaste at my outfit. _If I'm going to be meeting John's aunt and wife, I think I'd better pay a little more attention to what I'm wearing,_ I thought.

I picked through my closet, looking for something modest, yet nice. Finally, I settled on a white blouse and a black skirt that came to below my knees. In the bathroom, I brushed my hair back from my face and left it free flowing. My bruises were gone now, so I put on minimal makeup. A scar remained of my head wound and always would. I stood in front of the mirror, still not liking the way I looked. _They're going to think I look like a tramp_, I thought wildly, pulling the neck of the blouse up and the hem of the skirt down. _But then again, I guess I sort of am!_ My brain was reeling and nearing hysteria.

I took a few heaving breaths to steady myself, ran a hand through my hair, and left the bathroom. George sat in a chair with his guitar on his lap, playing a song that I knew to be Elvis' _Heartbreak Hotel. _George told me that it was the song that had gotten him into rock 'n' roll in the first place. His keen ears had picked up on the fact that I had walked into the room and he paused in his guitar playing to look up at me.

"You should relax." he instructed "I can practically 'ear yer heartbeat from 'ere! Sure, ya made a bit of a mistake with John—" I gave him a look "Okay, a big mistake," he conceded "But Cyn an' Mimi don't know about it and they aren't gonna hate ya!"  
"I'm not worried!" I retorted, irate that he could see through me so easily.

He set his guitar down, got up, and walked over to me. He dwarfed me easily, and I suddenly felt very small as I looked up at him "Yes, you are." he said gently.

I folded my arms childishly and stubbornly "No, I'm not!" My lip stuck out in a pout. He laughed, backing up.

Fine, yer not." I smiled, walking away and feeling a bit more relaxed "Yes, you are." His whisper followed me.

I whirled around to see him tuning his guitar innocently "Watch yerself, Harrison." I pointed at him in a mock-threatening manner. He made an equally fake fearful face at me, pretending to cower and tremble.

"I'm quakin' in me socks," he said most insincerely, winking at me.

"You should be," I scoffed "I'm terrifyin'!" I growled and made what I hoped to be a scary face. He stroked the corners of his mouth, presumably to hide a smile "Well, I am!" I stated. His laughter bubbled through and I found myself laughing just as hard as he was.

"'Avin' fun, kids?" Ringo asked jovially, strolling into the room "Sorry to break up this giggle-fest, but we gotta get goin'." My grin slid off my face instantly. Ringo noticed and patted my shoulder comfortingly.

On the car ride over Paul attempted to make small talk, but it couldn't cut through the tension that everyone was feeling. _Maybe you're overreacting,_ I told myself. _They don't know what happened._

But when I got to the door with the boys, it felt to me as though Mimi _knew._

"Hello, John," she said, fleetingly embracing her nephew "Hello," she curtly greeted the rest of them and then stopped on me.

"Aunt Mimi, this is our housekeeper, Emily." John said. I noticed that he struggled to keep the Scouse accent out of his voice when speaking to his aunt.

"How do you do?" she asked cooly.

"It's a pleasure to meet ya," I said, extending my hand and mentally cringing as the words left my mouth. My accent was quite heavy and by the flare of Mimi's nostrils when I spoke, I could tell that she thought poorly of people with thick Scouses. This was nothing new to me, my school teachers had always tried to get me to lighten my accent.

Mimi ignored my proffered hand and said scathingly "Another one, John?" I flushed hotly and saw George doing the same. I understood then; George's accent was roughly the same as mine.

A diminutive woman with dyed blond hair came into the entryway "John!" she exclaimed, running to him and throwing her arms around his neck with a kiss. I assumed that this was Cynthia.

"Hello, luv," he said, drawing her hair out of her face with his fingers and kissing her tenderly in return "How're you an' Julian doing?"

"We're doing well," she replied "Hello, boys." she smiled at them "Who's this?"

"Oh, this is Emily, our... housekeeper." Her eyes narrowed keenly, but she said nothing. I met her searching gaze evenly, pushing all emotion out of my eyes.

"Won't you all come in for tea?" Mimi inquired, breaking what was becoming an awkward silence. We filed silently into the sunroom and sat down. Mimi followed with a tray of tea and biscuits.

"I'm sorry to be so brief, but there are some things I need to pick up. I'll be back." she rested her hand on John's head as she left.

I wrapped my fingers around my tea cup, absorbing the warmth. Cynthia set hers down decisively, suggesting that she was about to say something.

"So, Emily, might I ask why you're wearin' John's art college ring?" My eyes widened in shock and I stole a quick glance down at my hands. Roughly the third night of our short-lived and rather ill-fated relationship he'd given me the ring with a long kiss to go with it. I'd completely forgotten about it.

"I, uh, it—" I stuttered. John went stiff and the blood drained from his face.

"No, I know what happened." She cut across me briskly "Mimi told me after he called me back an' talked to her afterward. He told her about what was happenin'." Her voice was losing the cool control and was beginning to rise steadily "She told me that my husband was 'aving an affair with a woman who was comin' onto him." I cast a furious glance in John's direction. How dare he lie about it? It as just as much him as it was me. It takes two to tango, after all "Just because he's a musician doesn't mean he'll sleep with every girl he sees—" I found my voice.

"D'you really think that yer husband remains faithful to ya when 'e's not 'ome? Like ya said, 'e's a musician. I've been with 'em for awhile now and I can tell ye right now that none of 'em are faithful. Granted George an' Ringo don't at this moment 'ave a girl to remain true to—well, Ringo does now." I amended "But I 'appen to know for a fact that Paul an' John are not true to the girls in their life at times." Cynthia's face turned an outraged shade of red.

"That's an out-and-out lie," she hissed "John would never do that. An' neither would Paul, 'e loves Jane."

"John loves ya, but that doesn't stop 'im, does it?" I asked simply.

"You know what I think?" she asked viciously "I think yer a common, lyin'—" John cut Cynthia off, positively squirming with guilt.

"Cyn, stop it, will ya?" he asked "She's right, it was as much my fault as it was hers." I shook my head at him. As much as I felt bad for myself, I didn't want John throwing himself under the bus for me like this.

Cynthia's eyes welled with tears. She believed him, much to her dismay.

"The lot of ya make me sick, sick!" She fled the room.

"Cyn!"John ran after her. A long minute passed.

"Well," Paul clapped his hands together briskly "That went well." I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

John came back to the front of the house with a look on his face that said two things; first, he was in trouble, and second, so was I. Wordlessly, we got up and went to the car. I got the distinct feeling that the tentative friendship that John and I had just recently built up again had been shattered by a few moments of stupidity. Remembering the ring still on my finger, I pulled it off and deposited it in John's hand without looking at him. A headache was growing in my skull and I massaged my temples with my eyes shut. A hand rested itself on my shoulder comfortingly. I opened my eyes just a touch and saw George's soulful eyes peering concernedly at me. My stomach fluttered.

"I'm okay, George." I assured him. He nodded, but his hand remained on my shoulder, eventually wrapping around me in a half-hug.

**Paul's POV**

As soon as we got back to the house, I motioned for Ringo to follow me into the basement. He immediately plunked himself down on the sofa, his ever-restless hands tapping on his knees.

"So, wot's this about?" he asked. I dropped myself into my favorite armchair and paused to light a cigarette. I offered him one and he accepted.

I took a drag on my cigarette before answering "After doin' a bit of pokin' about—" he rolled his eyes at me "I've found out that George an' Emily fancy each other."

"Mate, you'd 'ave to be blind, deaf, an' dumb not to notice something like that," he chortled. I shot him a forlorn look. He was completely ruining the angle I was going for.

"They're both too shy to make a move," I mused. Ringo grinned.

"Why, James Paul McCartney, are you seriously considerin' intervening in their love life?" I felt a bit crestfallen "'Ow dare ya think of it before me?" he joked.

I chuckled "That's the general idea, yeah." I made an apologetic face "I'm profoundly sorry fer stealin' yer glory." I said humbly, a smirk twitching the corners of my lips.

"Ye should be," he said in an imitation posh accent.

He tapped his chin pensively "Y'know, Valentines Day is comin' up..."

"Rings, you sap." I laughed, shaking my head. He was even worse than me! And that was saying something "But it _would _provide a good excuse to get 'em alone. Geo's the only one of us that doesn't 'ave a bird."

"True,' Ringo nodded. For the next fifteen minutes, we devised a plan.


	14. Chapter 14

******Paul's POV**

It was now the morning of February 14th. Our final plan had come down to this; I was going to get John and Cynthia to come for dinner and dancing with Ringo, Maureen, Jane, and myself. Mimi was away on vacation with her sisters, so there would be no one to watch Julian. No one but two people, that is. I would oh-so-suavely convince John to let Emily babysit. This part would take some doing and possibly present some obstacles, as they weren't really on comfortable speaking terms just yet. Meanwhile, Ringo would be using all of his rather extensive puppy-dog charms on Cynthia to get her to ask George to babysit Julian. It wouldn't take much effort to get her to agree to that. Cyn thought highly of George and it also helped quite a bit that George was good with kids and Julian absolutely adored the lad. It was a pretty gear plan, if I did say so myself.

I was on the phone with Jane now, and she had just agreed to go out for dinner with us "...Okay, Jane. I'll pick ye up at six. Bye, luv." I blew a kiss into the phone and hung up to some exaggerated gagging noises, presumably from John. I turned to see him sitting at the kitchen table "Real mature, mate." I said, coming to sit down across from him.

"Yer such a romantic fool, McCartney." He barely contained a roll of his eyes.

"And yet, the birds like it." I said with a smirk. This time he did roll his eyes all the way back in his head "Careful, Lennon. They'll get stuck up there if ya keep doin' that. Jane an' I are goin' with Ringo an' Mo tonight to get some dinner an' then go dancin'. You an' Cyn wanna come?" I asked.

He rubbed the back of his neck in thought "I dunno. Cyn an' I were plannin' on just stayin' at Mendips fer a quiet evening. Plus, Mimi's out of town on holiday. No one would be able to take care of Julian."

I pantomimed—convincingly, might I add—being struck by an idea "'Ey, I know who could watch 'im!" It took John approximately three seconds to catch on.

"Uh-uh," he shook his head empathetically "Cyn would never go fer that. An' we're really not on speaking terms yet. At all."

"Cyn doesn't 'ave to know, an' I can ask Emily for ya." I said immediately. He considered this option and seemed to find it acceptable.

"Yer idea _does _sound better than a night in, I'll call Cyn up an' see if she wants to go. If she says yes, could ya ask Emily for me? An' tell 'er that I'm busy or I would come and ask 'er meself, I don't want 'er thinkin' that I'm scared." He gave me a sharp look.

"Sure, mate. No problem." I repressed a grin.

"Thanks, Paul." He clapped me on the shoulder before heading off in search of his guitar.

**Ringo's POV**

"'Ello?" Cyn's voice picked up. She sounded terse.

"Hi, Cyn. It's Ringo."

"Oh, 'ello Ringo!" Her voice relaxed somewhat "How are you?"

"I'm pretty well, yerself?" I responded.

"I'm alright. John just called me an' said that some of you are goin' for dinner tonight and you wanted us to go." I hoped she couldn't hear me smiling through the phone.

"Uh-huh, that's the idea." I said, putting as much smooth charm into my voice as I could.

"I think it's a gear idea, but we've got no one to watch Jules and we can't just leave 'im here by himself, y'know." Well, there we go. It was time to employ my fabulous acting skills.

A "spontaneous" idea came to me "George isn't doin' anything tonight." I hinted.

"D'you think he would do it?" she asked, hope glimmering in her tone.

"Definitely, the lad's great with kids." I said confidently, hiding a triumphant laugh.

"An' Julian's comfortable with him, so I think it'll work out just fine." She said, sounding much happier than she had when she picked up "But listen, could ya ask him for me? I'm a little too busy right now."

"No problem, Cyn. See ya later." I hung up and did a little victory dance. Everything was working out just fine.

I sauntered causally into the living room and found George sprawled on the couch, doodling absentmindedly in a sketchbook. He had an unusually dreamy look in his eyes, so I decided to take a peek at his latest work of art.

"Something you'd care to show the rest of the class, Georgie?" I asked, peering down at the drawing "Watcha drawin'?" He instantly turned red and hugged the sketch to his thin chest, but not before I caught a glimpse of a drawing of what appeared to be a girl that bore extraordinary resemblance to a girl known as Emily Scott.

"Nothin'," he said much too quickly. I chuckled and pried it from his resisting grasp, drawing cries of protest. Appraising the drawing, I gave a nod of approval. This kid was head over heels in love, and it was obvious.

"Nice. Looks just like 'er." His cheeks intensified in color as he snatched it back with a glare in my direction "Say, Geo—" I began.

"Wot d'you want Rings?" he asked with an exaggerated sigh. I knew he was teasing, but I couldn't resist the temptation to irk him a little further.

"Oh say now, that wasn't nice, son!" I exclaimed in mock hurt, grabbing the sketchbook back "I think I'll go give this to that nice little bird that ya fancy so much, wot was 'er name... oh! Em—" He clapped a hand over my mouth and rescued the drawing.

"Stop it, will ya? I'm sorry, please excuse my terrible rudeness." He gave an ironic little bow.

I laughed as he released his hold on my mouth "Paul, Jane, John, Cyn, Mo, an' myself are goin' out tonight, an' Cyn's got no one to watch Jules. She was wonderin' if you would." He considered this for awhile.

"Don't 'ave anything else to do, do I?" he asked somewhat bitterly, but then forced a smile onto his face.

"Ta," I ruffled the younger boy's hair as I left. He had no idea how much his world would flip upside down. But then again, I'm not sure if any of us knew.

**Paul's POV**

Emily stood at the counter washing dishes. I crept up behind her and poked her sides. This had been a bad idea on my part; Emily had strong reactions to being surprised. She shrieked and spun around, catching me in the face with a wet, soapy sponge. It hit my face with a wet, _thwack!_ I couldn't see at all; I was blinded by bubbles.

"Em! Ick!" I yelped, groping for a towel on the counter. She pulled said towel off her shoulder and slung it at me.

"It's yer own fault fer sneakin' up on me like that!" she scolded, hiding a grin as I scrubbed my face dry "If nothin' else, I got ya to wash yer face." She smirked.

"Whatever," I waved her off impatiently "I actually came to ask ya a favor." She finished with the last of the dishes and turned to me, wiping her hands on the towel.

"Wot?" she asked, hanging the towel back where it belonged.

"Well, John was—" she shot me a significant look that I ignored completely "—Gonna ask ya if you'll babysit Julian tonight." I finished in a rush.

"She contemplated the idea, adopting a pensive look "I don't owe John any favors, not by a long stretch. But I like kids an' I 'aven't got anything else to do tonight, so I suppose that it's yes."

"Okay, luv. I'm sure John will be grateful." She smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. I wondered how much of it, if any of it, would still be there after tonight.

The remainder of the day went by as normally as possible. I guess our lives weren't what one could call normal, really, but we didn't get mauled by fans gone wild. That's probably as normal as our lives could get.

"Em?" I called. She came out of the kitchen, pretty much her permanent residency with four hungry young men to feed everyday "John an' Cyn are meetin' us there an' they've probably left already. I'll drop ye off at Mendips on my way to pick Jane up."

"You still 'aven't introduced me to yer girlfriend, Paulie, fer shame!" she teased, poking my sides "Thanks for the ride." She pulled her coat on and went out to the car with me following close behind. Not much was said on the short drive over; Love Me Do was on the radio and we were both singing along obnoxiously. I was pretty sure someone would call the police due to public disturbance if people had been able to hear us. We pulled up to Mendips and she ruffled my hair, much to my annoyance, as she leapt out of the car with a goodbye.

**Emily's POV**

The door was unlocked and I let myself in, hanging my coat on the hook. There was a hastily scribbled note taped on the wall.

_Julian's room is upstairs, first on the right. He should be sleeping_

_~John_

I slid my shoes off, delicately padded over to the steps, and then up them. At the top, there was a small, but comfortable looking room. It was a total mess; there were bits of paper everywhere and every flat surface had at least two books piled precariously on top of each other. I had already guessed the owner of this room by the time I looked at the plaque on the door: _John's Room._

A faint crying sound came from the room that John had stated in his note belonged to Julian. I opened the door and crossed the room quickly to the crib. It seemed as though he had just woken up. I reached into the crib and gently took the tiny bundle into my arms.

"Shh, shh," I whispered, rocking the baby boy back and forth "It's okay, Julian. Hush now." I cooed softly as I swayed back and forth, but to no avail. The cries wouldn't stop.

**George's POV**

I got out of my car and locked the doors. When I got to the front door it was unlocked so I quietly let myself in and shed my coat and shoes. From past experience, I knew where Julian's room was and I went upstairs to go check on him, resigning myself to a night alone. To my surprise, the door was open and there was already somebody in Julian's room. A very familiar person.

**Emily's POV**

A sound at the doorway made me turn and gasp with surprise. It was George. He looked equally surprised to see me. His eyebrows were contracted in thought.

"What're ye—" we said together. I giggled at his expression and motioned with my head that he should continue.

"Wot are ye doin' 'ere?" he asked.

"John asked—well, Paul asked for John—if I could come take care of Julian tonight." I responded, still trying to stop Julian's cries. He frowned in confusion.

"That's funny, 'cause Ringo asked me in place of Cyn if _I _could come watch Julian." We were pensive for a moment, and then an idea crept into my brain.

"Either this is a weird instance of miscommunication, or it was deliberately set up by a pair of idiots that go by the names of Paul and Ringo." I said, making a mental note to shave off their hair while they were sleeping or some other obscenity later "Oh, this poor little fella just won't stop cryin'!" I exclaimed, bouncing the unhappy baby up and down, still swaying from side to side.

"Let me take 'im," George offered, holding out his arms. I carefully passed the upset little bundle into his arms. He appeared to have experience in this area, because he immediately began to softly croon an old Bing Crosby standard. Within seconds, Julian's cries eased. About a minute later, his eyelids had drooped shut and he was peacefully sleeping.

"How did ya _do_ that?" he shrugged as best he could with his arms otherwise occupied.

"I've done this before. Ya just 'ave to sing to 'im." He said nonchalantly, rocking the now slumbering Julian back and forth.

"Well, I wish I'd known that before," I said "I tried just about everything you could think of before ya got 'ere." IT surprised me that George was so good with kids, but I also found it sweet. There was a tender look in his dark eyes as he set Julian back in his crib. We tiptoed down the stairs.

George's stomach rumbled loudly and he snuck a sheepish glance at me. I laughed and went into the kitchen to hunt down some food. It was evident that Mimi had been gone and that John had been the one doing the shopping because the only thing in abundance was cornflakes. There was just enough bread and jam for some sandwiches. I popped my head out the doorway.

"George?" I called. He came out of the living room.

He beat me to my explanation of the food situation "Lemme guess. There's not much of anything to eat except cornflakes." I nodded and he made a "typical John" face at me.

"There's enough jam an' bread for some jam butties and there's quite a lot of tea." I suggested.

"I'll 'elp ya make it," he offered, coming into the kitchen before I could say otherwise. In moments, he was at the counter, rolling up the sleeves of his dark red button down shirt.

"Well, if yer sure," I trailed off. He gave me his famous lopsided grin and I felt the familiar sensation of my insides being replaced with caterpillars.

I started the tea brewing and hunted the jam down again. George got the bread out and took the appropriate amount of slices out. He took the jam from my hands and a spark make my fingertips tingle with the unexpected touch. I poured the tea into separate cups and added two spoonfuls of sugar to each "Ya done over there?" I asked George. He finished putting the sandwiches on a plate and nodded in assent. We sat down in the sunroom, which admittedly wasn't very sunny at seven pm.

"I'm just gonna go check on Julian again," I said to break the thickening silence.

"Alright," George mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich. I trotted up the stairs and poked my head in Julian's room. He was still sleeping quietly

When I got back downstairs, our awkward silence continued. Then George spoke "Blimey, this is weird," he said, plopping himself back in his chair dramatically. It was then that I noticed a smear of jam on George's nose.

"Geo, you've got jam on yer nose," I giggled, grabbing a napkin and wiping it away.

"Cut it out!" he laughed, squirming away from my assault on his nose. This made me loose my balance and I landed on top of him. Just as I was thinking that we seemed to find ourselves in this situation quite a lot, I felt his soft lips cautiously touch mine. A shockwave of heat and electricity jolted through me as I started to kiss him back. His hands came up to work themselves through my hair, but then I pulled away as I realized what I was doing.

"I-I-" I stammered "I'm sorry." I fled to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Tears leaked out from beneath my closed eyelids as I clutched the edge of the sink for support. Looking back on it, I was probably being irrational, but I was just petrified with the fear of being hurt again emotionally or physically.

The door gently opened and George stood in the doorway. He made a move toward me and I flinched away, trying to control my tears. His eyes were full of kindness as he took my face in his warm hands and wiped the tears tenderly from my cheeks "Why won't ya let yerself love an' be loved?" he asked quietly, pulling me against his strong chest in a reassuring embrace. I felt all desire to leave flood out of me.

"I'm just _scared_ George," I whispered into his shirt.

"Why?" he asked, tilting my chin up with his calloused fingers.

"I don't wanna get hurt again, and I don't want to hurt anyone again." My voice was small and feeble and I hated it.

"This is gonna sound corny, an' ya don't 'ave to believe me, but I promise you that I will _never _hurt ya. Ever." His face was open and earnest; he wanted me to believe him, and I did.

"I believe ya," I whispered and stood on tiptoe so I could almost reach his lips. He tipped his head down so we met in the middle. Electricity coursed through my body and as cliché as it sounds, I saw fireworks going off behind my closed eyelids as the kiss deepened. His hands curled through my hair and he angled his head so our mouths meshed better. My fingertips gently brushed over the smooth skin of his face like a blind person reading braille and knotted in his soft hair. After what seemed simultaneously like a second and eternity, we broke apart. His hands still rested on my face.

My breathing was erratic and quick, as was his. Suddenly, he grinned down at me and took my hand "I've got something to show ye," he said, pulling me into the sitting room and seating me on a chair. One of John's guitars sat upon a stand. George picked it up and sat across from me, a nervous smile touching his lips. He started to play the beginnings of a very familiar song.

_You'll never know how much I really love you._

_You'll never know how much I really care._

_Listen,_

_Do you want to know a secret?,_

_Do you promise not to tell?, whoa oh, oh._

_Closer,_

_Let me whisper in your ear,_

_Say the words you long to hear,_

_I'm in love with you._

I was grinning like a fool by the time he started to sing this part. It was one of my favorite songs that they did and now he was singing it for me. And it actually meant something.

_Listen,_

_Do you want to know a secret?,_

_Do you promise not to tell?, whoa oh, oh._

_Closer,_

_Let me whisper in your ear,_

_Say the words you long to hear,_

_I'm in love with you._

_I've known the secret for a week or two,_

_Nobody knows, just we two._

_Listen,_

_Do you want to know a secret?,_

_Do you promise not to tell?, whoa oh, oh._

_Closer,_

_Let me whisper in your ear,_

_Say the words you long to hear,_

_I'm in love with you._

I was certain that the smile would never come off my face. When he finished he looked a bit worried "It's not the best I've ever done the song, but—" I reached across and sealed his lips with a kiss.

"I think it was wonderful," I whispered against his lips, making him smile. He leaned in for another kiss, but Julian decided to take this moment to wake up and fuss. I laughed and leaned my forehead against his for a minute, and then we went upstairs to check on him, hand in hand.

When we got back downstairs, we curled up on the couch and talked. His warmth made me drowsy, and it wasn't long before I fell asleep against him with his arms wrapped comfortingly around me.

**Paul's POV**

The girls had decided to stay at Maureen's house for the night so they could go shopping in the morning. What allure shopping held for girls, I'll never know. Trudging around and trying a bunch of clothes on only to end up buying nothing just didn't fall under my definition of fun, somehow.

On the drive back to Mendips, Ringo and I explained to John our little plan. He laughed and shook his head "You two amaze me sometimes," he said. Ringo and I slapped a high-five, just barely missing John's face in the process.

When we got to the front door, Ringo tiptoed in first, poked his head around the corner and turned back to us with a huge grin plastered on his face. He beckoned for use to follow. Emily and George were sleeping on the sofa, her head was on his shoulder and their fingers were loosely entwined. I smiled, reaching over to gently wake George up. He blinked drowsily at me and indicated that I shouldn't wake Emily.

"We still gotta get 'er 'ome, though," I whispered "We can't just 'ave a sleepover 'ere." George responded by gently picking her up. She mumbled in her sleep a bit and clutched at his shirt, but didn't wake. He carried her out to the car and the ride was silent, but comfortable.

George accidentally jolted Emily as he got out of the car and she stirred "George?" she asked, looking up at him. He smiled and kissed her forehead softly. They were practically radiating love if that was physically possible.

"I'm here." Those were the two, monosyllabic words that Emily had been needing to hear her whole life.


	15. Chapter 15

**Emily's POV**

Any irateness I felt toward Ringo and Paul for setting George and I up had faded. Mostly, anyway. I was still looking for a way to get them back. Now I was just thankful. I started cooking breakfast, pancakes with strawberries, humming as I went. If I felt any happier I was sure I would float up to the ceiling.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me close "Good morning, George," I laughed as his hair tickled the back of my neck. He kissed my cheek and came around to stand next to me.

"Mornin', luv," he said "How'd ya sleep?"

"Not bad," I replied, flipping the last of the pancakes onto a plate "How was your sleep?" My heart melted when he smiled at me and took the plate from my hands and set it down on the table.

"It wasn't bad. There was a lovely young redheaded woman in it. Couldn't figure out fer the life of me who she was," he joked, nudging my nose with his own. I laughed.

"I wonder who that could be. I 'ad the same problem. There was a tall, dark haired man in my dreams. 'E was quite 'andsome, if I remember correctly." I fluffed the front of his hair and he captured my lips with a tender kiss.

"Oi! Get a room, you two!" John called as he came into the kitchen. George ignored him and continued kissing me. Suddenly he yelped and jumped away from me, swatting at the back of his neck.

John stood innocently nearby, sipping a glass of water "Well, 'e wasn't gonna take a cold shower by 'imself, was he?" he stated without looking. It was amazing to me that one person could manage being _so _annoying _all _the time.

"For that, John Lennon, ya get no pancakes an' no strawberries!" I exclaimed. I'd hit him close to his heart, or rather his stomach; John immediately dropped to his knees with his hands clasped in front of him pleadingly.

"Oh please ma'am, don't punish me so cruelly! It's not my fault, y'know! I was led astray by _those_ ruffians!" He pointed a dramatic finger at the rest of the boys, who made typical _who, me? _faces. I ruffled his neatly combed hair. The Lennon charm had struck again.

"Ya can 'ave all the pancakes yer 'eart desires, but no more of this pourin' water on people!" I sternly lectured, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"Oh, I'll do anything, anything!" he assured me theatrically. I dragged him upright and sat him down in front of a plate of pancakes. He, like the others, began eating with enthusiasm suggesting that he hadn't eaten in days.

The phone started to ring and I went into the other room to answer it.

"'Ello?" I answered, twirling the cord around my finger and leaning against the desk.

"Would a lead guitarist by the name of Emily Scott be residin' at this number?" It was obviously Fergus.

"It depends on who's calling," I responded, a grin spreading across my face.

"This is the drummer fer the band Blessed Day," Fergus said in a formal voice, one hundred percent pure Irish cheek.

"Hi Fergus, what's goin' on?" I said. It was little wonder that he and the boys got along so well.

"Oh, not much. We just got back today an' we've got an audition with a recording label," he listed offhandedly. A beat passed before I caught onto the last part of his comment.

"An audition? With a recording label? When?" I exclaimed "This is great!" Just when I thought this day couldn't get any better.

He laughed heartily "As soon as ya get yer arse over here!"

"Which label is it?" I asked, my heart pounding with excitement.

"It's a fairly new one. I can't recall what it's called... oi! Sarah, what's the name of the label?" he shouted into the background. An unintelligible, crackly reply came "It's called Wild World Records." A breath hitched in my throat. My brothers had written a song for me called Wild World right before they left. I brushed it off as an odd coincidence, it seemed like a pretty common title.

"Give me directions and I'll be there before ye can say Blessed Day." Fergus gave me instructions on how to get there and I hung up.

I rushed out of the room "Hold it, luv. Where's the fire?" Paul caught me when I tripped over my own foot in my hurry.

"Our band's got an audition!" I squealed as George ran to me and swung me in a circle.

"That's great, luv!" He pecked me on the lips "I suppose you'll be wantin' to borrow me guitar?" he asked at the same time that I inquired whether I could use said instrument. I giggled and nodded. He ran to his room and came back down with it.

"I'll drive ya," he offered while I shrugged on my coat. I made no argument about this, I wanted to spend as much time with George as possible.

"Yer spoilin' me!" I poked his nose as we went out to his car. He wrinkled up his face at me.

"If ya can't spoil yer girl, who can ya spoil?" He got in the car and waited for me to get comfortable before he drove off. I paused in my adjusting of the guitar case. Had he just called me _his _girl?

He caught my look and flushed "That was sorta my clumsy way of askin' if you'd like to be my girl." His eyes were intently focused on the steering wheel. I gently brushed my fingers across George's chin and turned his head so he was looking at me.

"George, I'd _love_ to be yer girl," I whispered, pressing my mouth against his. He reached across and ran his fingers through my hair. I stroked his hair away from his forehead and kissed him soft and slow.

He pulled away slowly, reluctantly, and smiled at me "Let's go," he said. The rest of the drive went by in comfortable silence, broken only by my driving instructions to George, or his humming. I could never tire of the sound of his voice.

When we arrived, the band was waiting outside. George leaned over to give me a goodbye kiss. I blushed upon hearing the hoots and claps from everyone outside.

I picked up the guitar case and got out of the car. Sarah grinned widely at me after giving me a hug hello.

"Well, well! Look who's captured little Geo Harrison's heart!" I shot her a look and Aaron roared with laughter at my expression.

"That's enough outta you!" I smacked his shoulder as we headed inside. He made no attempt to stifle his guffaws.

"Blessed Day, 'ere for an audition," Sarah told the desk clerk. She nodded and pointed us in the right direction.

A gasp caught in my throat and my vision tunneled until all I could see the two extremely familiar redheaded executives of this record label. Michael and Ben. My two brothers.

**George's POV**

As soon as I pulled back up to the house, Paul, Ringo, and John ran out and jumped in the car. We had been planning on buying Emily a new guitar today, and the unexpected audition coincided perfectly.

"So, where're we goin'?" Paul asked once the car was back on the street again.

"I dunno," I responded "Which store sells the best guitars?"

"I'm just the drummer. Don't ask me," Ringo held up his hands and smirked.

"An' a damn good one too," John affirmed "Lemme think, there was a place about a block away from Mendips where I got my Hofner President. The storekeeper's a nice bloke." With John pointing the way, we soon arrived at a little music shop. We went in and my eyes raked over the plethora of guitars.

"George, yer droolin'," Paul tapped my chin as he searched the shelves for a guitar that matched Emily's personality.

"Funny, McCartney," I rolled my eyes as I scanned the instruments. My eyes came to rest on a gorgeous red acoustic that somewhat matched the hue of Emily's hair.

"May I show ye this guitar?" An older man approached me. He was somewhat portly and short, his silver hair was combed immaculately.

"Yes please, sir." I nodded. He pulled the guitar down and showed me the different attributes of it. It was a nice guitar, and I thought that it was just what we were looking for.

"Now, is this for you, or someone else?" he asked "Because we're doin' free engravings today. You may select a message to be inscribed on the back of the neck." John nudged me. I needed no further bidding.

"It's for me girlfriend," I told him. He smiled kindly at me, eyes twinkling.

"So I take it you would like it to have an engraving?" he asked. I nodded "We can have it done in about an hour. I told him what I would like engraved in the neck and he chuckled as he wrote it down.

"Say, yer the young Lennon lad, aren't ya?" He peered at John. John wiggled his fingers at him "Haven't changed a bit, I see. You lads can stay 'ere while the engraving is being done, but no tomfoolery from ya, ya 'ear?" He shook a stern finger at us, fixing a stare at John. He made an angelic face at the little shopkeeper, which was far from angelic.

We sat around and talked for an hour until the shopkeeper came out from the back and presented us with the guitar. I paid him and we left in the direction of the studio.

**Emily's POV**

I stood stock-still in disbelief. Only two words came out of my trembling mouth "Michael? Ben?" And then I was running into their arms, feeling them close around me for the first time in years.

"Emily?" Ben whispered in shock. I nodded into his shoulder, tears starting to run down my face. But they were tears of joy.

"God, I missed ya," Michael murmured into my hair. I felt wetness in my hair and realized they were crying. I pulled out of their arms slightly and looked into their tearstained faces that matched my own.

"I missed you both so much," I said, the tears still relentlessly pouring down. Identical grins suddenly spread across their faces.

"'Ey, that's enough of that cryin'! Yer 'ere for an audition, unless our information is faulty?" Ben asked "We can catch up later. C'mon, the studio is this way."

I wiped the tears from my cheeks and picked the guitar case up again. Maggie gave me a questioning look "They're my brothers. I thought I'd never see them again when they left home a few years ago." She nodded with a sympathetic expression.

We went in the studio and Ben and Michael sat down, motioning for us to get set up. When I took George's guitar out of the case, Michael's eyes widened.

"Isn't that George Harrison's guitar?" he asked. Sarah nodded, a sneaky look on her face.

"She an' George are in _lo—_" I clapped a hand over her mouth before she could finish her sentence, but the damage was done. Ben started to laugh.

"So _you're _the mysterious redhead!" he exclaimed. I raised my eyebrows.

"I'm the what, now?" I questioned.

"The newspapers have gotten a few pictures of a redheaded girl goin' 'round with the Beatles, but no one has been able to identify 'er. I think we just did," Michael explained, chuckling. I sighed, running a hand through my traitorous hair.

We played Amazing Grace and a few other spiritual songs before we got to the song that we had written. So far, so good. My brothers appeared to be impressed.

"We wrote this next song," Sarah explained "It came from a conglomeration of all our childhoods, or at least parts of them." We started to play Dad, and by the time we had finished my brothers looked stunned. The song had obviously reminded them of our shared childhood.

"Well?" I asked, hardly daring to breathe. My bandmates had similar expressions on their faces, hopeful, but nervous.

"Well..." They drew out that one little syllable to insane lengths until I was just about ready to shake it out of them "Wot time would be best for ya to come for a recordin' session?" No one moved a muscle, and then the room erupted into cheers as we all jumped on each other in a gigantic group hug. The girls were crying and the boys were pretending that they weren't.

"I'd say this merits a celebration," Lucy said once she recovered her speech capabilities. We agreed wholeheartedly. I held my hand out to Michael and Ben, but they shook their heads.

"Funny thing 'bout runnin' a business, ya 'ave _work_ to do. _Why_ that could be, I dunno. But there ya go," Michael quipped. I gave them both a crushing hug goodbye and we left. Surprisingly, the boys were waiting for us outside, sitting on the bumper of George's car.

"How'd it go?" Ringo inquired. None of us could help it, smiles that said it all spread across our faces. They whooped congratulations and gave hugs to the girls and slaps on the back to the boys. When George got to me he paid no attention to the crowd of people around us, he pulled me into a tight hug and his lips came crashing down on mine. I too ignored the now staring people and kissed him back for all I was worth. Eventually, I pulled away and he smiled down lopsidedly at me.

"Are we gonna go celebrate or what?" I asked, lacing my fingers with George's and walking away down the street toward a bar that had a good reputation for being laid back and quiet. Laughter filled the air behind us as the rest of our extensive group followed suit.

We ordered drinks and found a few tables that had the correct number of chairs.

"So Emily, 'ow does it feel to be in love?" Lucy teased. I decided to be theatrical.

"Oh, it feels _wonderful_!" I sighed, flinging my arms out on either side of me. I accidentally caught Paul in the face with my elbow.

"Ow!" he whined "Careful where ya put that arm of yers, luv!" I laughed at his scrunched up facial expression.

"Sorry, Paul," I chuckled "Do you want me to kiss it better?" I asked, grabbing his face and smacking an auntie kiss on his cheek. He made a big show of scrubbing my "germs" off his face.

"I'm gonna go get another drink, does anyone else want anything?" I asked.

"Nah, go ahead luv," Ringo said, waving a ring bedazzled hand in my direction. I wandered over to the bar and ordered a drink. While I waited, I glanced around at the hazy interior of the building, allowing myself to daydream a bit.

A hand on my shoulder brought me crashing back to Earth with a painful jolt. It spun me around roughly so I was face to face with it's owner. When I saw who it was, it felt like all the air in my lungs had just been knocked from me. Ice water flooded my veins.

"I knew I'd find ya eventually," he growled menacingly.

"Dad?" I choked, fear filling my heart.


	16. Chapter 16

**Emily's POV**

"I knew I'd find ya," he repeated, pinning my arm to the bar with an iron grip. I struggled against him "Oh no ya don't," he hissed "I saw ya over there with those mop-headed idiots. Yer not goin' with them, yer comin' 'ome with me. Where ya belong." My father towered over me menacingly.

"Let me go!" I yelled, thrashing against him and attempting to gain some leverage that I could use to my advantage "I don't belong to you!" It didn't work; he was much heavier than I was "Get off me, you foul, pitiful excuse of a man!" He laughed, the rancid smell of alcohol washing over me in nauseating waves. I swallowed the bile that had risen in my throat. One might think that after so many years of enduring his heavy drinking I might be impervious to the smells of intoxicating beverages. If anything, I had become _more _sensitive to them.

"Foul, am I? Pitiful?" he questioned, his fingers caressing my cheek roughly. I shivered in disgust "I don't think yer in the position to call a person names like that, princess," he spat out the term that usually was used as endearment, making it sound poisonous "Yer probably sleepin' with all four of those pathetic bastards, ya little whore!" He clenched my arm harder, making me stifle a cry of pain.

He had just ventured one step too far "Now, that's not a very nice thing to call a woman," I began conversationally. Then I smashed my foot into his shin and my hand cracked across his face in a sort of half punch, half slap. He doubled over in pain, shrieking curses and clutching his shin. A red mark began to appear on his gaunt face. He bellowed and struck my head against the bar repeatedly. I saw stars spinning in and out of my dimming line of vision. Just when I felt myself slipping into the dark, silent void of unconsciousness, my father's weight was lifted from me. I sank slowly to the floor, craning my aching head up to see who had come to my rescue.

George had hauled my dad up by the collar of his shirt and shoved him away from me so that he crashed into one of the neighboring tables. He turned to me, worry written plainly across his features. My father staggered drunkenly to his feet, alcohol fueling the flames of his anger.

"George, look out!" I cried as my father lunged at him. He spun to face the inebriated man and blocked the blows. For awhile, he held him off. But then George lost his footing for a brief instant, slipping on the remnants of a spilled drink. He quickly righted himself, but that small amount of time was enough for my father to get past George's guard and land a powerful blow to his face. The force of the impact was such that it snapped George's head back and he fell to the floor.

My father towered over George's fallen form as he raised his foot to deliver a kick to his ribs, leering horribly. There was no way George could get to his feet or defend himself so he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, awaiting the oncoming pain. But the blow never came. Something crashed into my father with the speed and force of a crazed bull and a bellowing roar nearly as loud. Upon closer inspection of the situation that was unfolding, I realized that the something was a someone. And the someone was John.

John was coldly furious, but my father had drunken rage on his side and was slowly gaining the upper hand in the scuffle. George got to his feet and dove back into the fray, but even they two couldn't get a hold on my father. That was when Paul, Ringo, Fergus, and Aaron joined the melee. It was now a full-fledged bar fight. Enraged as he was, my father had no chance against six other angry men.

Aaron picked up my father by the back of his shirt like he was a kitten caught in wrongdoing and growled menacingly "You bastard. You call yerself a father? Stay away from 'er an' don't come lookin' fer trouble. Seems like it finds ya easy enough on it's own." And he promptly dropped him in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Paul helped me to my feet "Luv? Are ya okay?" There was going to be a monumental bump on my head, but other than that everything seemed to be functioning properly. I nodded, which made my head throb painfully. I winced.

I took stock of the injuries collected by what I sort of considered to be my adopted family. Paul's hair was nearing the likeness of a tumbleweed, his bottom lip was swollen and tender looking, and a fair sized bruise was snaking its way up his arm from where he had collided with a table. Ringo had a collection of bruises forming on his arms, a red and puffy cheek, and a large tear in his jeans. John was one of the worst off by far with the beginnings of a gigantic bruise flowering across his jaw, scratches on his arms, a torn up shirt, and a bloody nose. George's left eye was rapidly swelling shut with the promise of becoming a nice little shiner, a couple of his belt loops were torn, and a few scratches adorned his face. Fergus' nose was also bleeding and a fair sized goose egg was forming on the right side of his forehead. Aaron's arms were covered in nicks and red marks that had the potential to become bruises and his bottom lip was split. My own lip quivered; because of me and my stupid drunkard of a father, I'd gotten a lot of people that I loved hurt. A single tear slid down my face.

George pulled me into his arms and put his face in my hair "Yer not blamin' yerself for any of this are ya? 'Cause if ya are, there's no way that any of this is yer fault. You didn't pick 'im to be yer father, did ya? It's not like ya told 'im to go crackers on us." He planted a delicate kiss on the crown of my head.

Sarah, Maggie, and Lucy came running over "Oh my gosh!" Lucy exclaimed, examining the damage "Are you all okay?" She examined the bump on Fergus' head.

"Just dapper, luv!" John said brightly.

Paul shot him a look "We're a little bumped and bruised but all things considered, I don't think we're any the worse for the wear."

Sarah was dabbing at John's nose with a tissue "Looks like we've got some patching up to do," she said, directing the comment at the girls in the group. John issued a theatrical groan and made a pitiful face. Not wanting to smack him and cause any more physical damage than had already been done, Sarah settled for shaking her finger at him in warning.

We set out for our assorted cars with the intention of meeting up at the collective Beatle residence. As we neared the cars, Paul darted ahead to pull something out of George's backseat and put it in the trunk. When I tried to see what it was, John moved in front of me. And when I moved, he moved just enough that he effectively obstructed my line of vision.

"John!" I laughed, still trying to peer around him.

"What?" he asked innocently. By this time, Paul had finished doing whatever he was doing and we piled into the car.

As soon as we got in the house, I sprinted upstairs in search of the first-aid kit. Ringo waited at the foot of the stairs for me with a look of urgency on his face.

"I just remembered I've got a date with Mo tonight," he said sheepishly.

"I take it you want me to fix ya up fast so yer not late?" I asked, ruffling his hair. He nodded, staring at his feet.

"You really like 'er, don't ya?" I asked as he sat down and I started tending to his various injuries.

"Yeah, I do," he said, wincing a bit at the bite of the rubbing alcohol like he had not so long ago when I had met him "Actually, I think I um... I think I love 'er!" he confessed, turning a faint shade of pink. I internally squealed with joy, Mo was so lucky to have found such a sweet guy to love.

I gave him a look that made him squirm "Ya _think_ ya love 'er?" I asked. He flushed even more brightly.

"No, I _know _I love 'er," he corrected himself. I grinned widely at him and finished cleaning up his wounds.

"That's better," I said. He got up and started to head upstairs to change, but stopped.

"Looks like we've come full circle, eh?" he asked, absentmindedly tracing the pale scar on his forearm that was the only reminder of his Teddy Boy run-in the night we met.

"Yeah, I guess it does," I said, noticing how something else seemed to be at the tip of his tongue "Alright, Starkey, out with it. What's eatin' ya?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Well, I 'aven't told Mo I love 'er yet, an' I don't know 'ow," he said uncomfortably. I stood up and came to face him. Even though Ringo was the shortest Beatle the top of my head only came up to his chin so I had to tilt my head up to look him in the eye.

"Ringo, when the time's right, you'll know," I said reassuringly "That sounds stupid, but it's true. I promise." He hugged me quickly and ran upstairs to change.

I turned to the remaining people in the room that still needed to be tended to "Okay, who's my fist victim?" Maggie was applying ice to Paul's fat lip, Lucy was trying to get Fergus' nose to stop bleeding, and Sarah was putting ice on John's bruised jaw. That left only Aaron and George. George "bravely" volunteered himself. I went into the kitchen to get some ice and a washcloth for George's black eye.

When I came back I sat down next to George and applied the ice to his eye. He flinched when the cold material came into contact with his swollen eye "Sorry," I said, biting my lip in sympathy. Having had several black eyes myself, I knew how painful it was to put ice on something so sensitive.

"It's okay, it's just cold. That's all." He stroked my hair gently and I found myself getting lost in his endless eyes... again.

"If you lovebirds can tear yourselves away from each other fer a mo', Aaron still needs attention," Fergus prompted cheekily. I pulled the most childish face possible at him and went to go get some ice for Aaron's lip.

Ringo went running out the door in a fresh pair of pants and a new shirt. I chuckled knowingly to myself as I gently pressed the ice to Aaron's split lip.

"Wot was that about?" he asked, his voice sounding a little muffled around the swelling and the ice.

"Oh, nothin'," I said. He quirked an eyebrow at me, but said nothing.

"I can use the ice meself if you've got somewhere you'd rather be," said Aaron, winking at me. I felt my cheeks get hot as I handed him the ice and went to curl up on the couch next to George, who immediately wrapped an arm around me. I cuddled up against him, absorbing his warmth.

After awhile, George got up "I've gotta go get something, 'old on a second," he said, dropping a kiss onto my forehead. The moment George exited the room, Paul leapt up and wrapped his hands around my face, effectively obstructing my vision. My hands shot up and attempted to pull his hands off me, but he refused to budge.

"Paul, wot's all this about?" I asked, trying to wiggle away from him.

"You'll see," was all he said.

Footsteps alerted me to the reentrance of George. I felt something of a very familiar shape being placed into my lap. Paul removed his hands from my face and I looked down to see what the foreign object was. I gasped.

It was a brand new acoustic guitar.

**Ringo's POV**

I pulled up to Mo's house and she ran down the steps to get into the car "'Ello, Ritchie!" she exclaimed, leaning across the dash to kiss my cheek. I turned my face just in time for her to catch my lips instead. She tasted sweet.

When she pulled away, she appeared to notice my injuries "Ritchie, what 'appened to yer face?" she exclaimed, gently skimming her fingers over the swollen skin "An' yer arms?" she added after seeing the bruises on my arms.

"Long story short, Emily's dad," I said, not wishing to delve into detail. She shook her head and huffed out a breath.

"That bastard," she muttered "I'm so glad that you were there. Stuff like that's 'appened before an' no one's been there to pull 'im off 'er."

We went and got dinner, and afterward decided to take a walk in the moonlight. I hesitantly took her hand and she immediately threaded her slender fingers through mine.

"Ritchie?" she tentatively asked, squeezing my hand. I dropped it and wrapped my arm around her shoulders and inhaled the sweet smell of her perfume before responding.

"Hmm?" I murmured.

"Um, this is gonna sound silly—" she began quietly. I laughed and kissed the top of her head.

"That's okay," I said, nudging her nose with my finger "I like silly." She giggled and it sounded like a symphony of tiny bells tinkling.

"Well, okay. I was just wonderin'—an' I don't want it to sound like I'm fishin' fer compliments—but I was just thinkin' that yer a Beatle. You could 'ave nearly any girl ya please, and yet ya pick me. There's nothin' extraordinary about me." I stopped and moved so that I was standing in front of her and put my hands on her face so that blue eyes met blue eyes.

"Maureen Cox, don't you ever think for one moment that you're not pretty, because you are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in me life." She looked at me incredulously. She didn't believe me "Yer eyes sparkle and shine no matter what yer doin', yer smile lights up the day like the sun has just broken through the clouds after a rainstorm, an' yer laugh makes everyone else around ya laugh. And that's just the physical stuff. Yer the funniest girl I know and never fail to make me laugh, ye can 'old up your end of a conversation, an' yer smart. Need I say more?" What I had just said was hopelessly cheesy and terribly cliché, but it was all one hundred percent true.

Her eyes welled up a little "Did I say somethin' wrong?" I asked concernedly. I hoped I hadn't gone overboard.

She shook her head no "No, it's just, well, it's just that that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," she whispered. I leaned down and kissed her gently.

"Mo?" I asked.

"Yeah?"

"I...I... I love ya!" I blurted out. She froze for one long second, and then her face broke into a big smile.

"I love you, too," she said, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me in for another kiss.

**George's POV**

Emily's eyes widened until I was sure they'd pop right out of her head "Oh George, it's _beautiful_!" she exclaimed, running her fingertips gently over the taut strings. Her left hand brushed over the engraving on the back of the neck and she carefully turned the guitar over to inspect it.

"_Emily Layla Scott: Play the music of your heart, and mine. Love, George."_

"What do ya think?" I asked nervously. She looked up at me, bright tears of happiness evident in her eyes.

"I love it!" she whispered, standing up and wrapping her arms around me. I found her lips and kissed her passionately "And I love you," she whispered against my lips, quiet enough so that no one else could hear.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: So, those of you who haven't been following this story on TheCrazyViolist's forum, from this chapter on, they're new to FanFiction. Enjoy! :D**

**Emily's POV**

"And I love you," I whispered into George's shirt. I froze immediately as the words seemed to slip out of my mouth on their own accord. What was I thinking? It was far too soon in our relationship to be saying something like that. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought that I had just ruined one of the only happy things in my life.

But then George chuckled softly, making his chest vibrate gently against my ear "I love you, too," he whispered, his stubble tickling my cheek. His warm fingers traced tiny circles on my back.

Sarah took this opportune moment to clear her throat loudly "Are ya gonna try it out or what?" I reluctantly pulled myself out of George's arms and picked the guitar-my guitar-up. It felt like it had been made especially for my hands. Sarah got the all-too-familiar look in her eye that suggested that she had an idea formulating in her over active mind. One could always tell when an idea popped into her head and get the general kind of idea that it was by the twinkle in her eyes. This particular twinkle indicated a fairly innocent idea.

"Impromptu jam session!" she called over her shoulder as she ran out to her car. The rest of us shrugged and followed her, figuring it would be the path of least resistance to go along with it. We unloaded all of my new band's gear and hauled it downstairs to the boys' makeshift studio. Fifteen minutes later, we were all set up.

We started out playing some rock and roll songs, and then Ringo challenged Fergus to a drum-off. After awhile, it was hard to tell who was winning and we were forced to call a draw. Actually, I called the draw when there appeared to be no end in sight and the noise levels were nearing an earthquake-inducing point. Much grumbling ensued, but it quickly was forgotten because Maggie suggested that "the new couple have a play-off."

"Yeah, that's a good idea!" Paul exclaimed, a grin turning the corners of his mouth up.

"No, I really don't think-" I started.

"Aww, c'mon, Em!" Ringo ribbed me with one of his drumsticks and I made him a solemn promise with my eyes that I would snap said drumstick in half if it came anywhere near me again. He seemed to take the warning to heart; the offending object kept a significant distance from me.

"Please?" George nudged my hip with his own. I sighed exasperatedly upon noticing the puppy-dog eyes that were now fixed in my direction. I had an unfortunate inability to say no to that look.

"Oh bloody 'ell, not you too!" I grumbled, flicking his ear lightly, trying and failing miserably not to smile "I suppose I'll do it, I don't 'ave a choice 'ere, do I?" Wholehearted shaking of heads followed my statement.

With a theatrical groan, I got to my feet, picked up my guitar, and readied myself. For the most part, George and I remained even. But halfway through one of his turns, a sharp pinging noise forced him to stop. He inspected his guitar and discovered that one of the strings had popped.

"Truce?" he offered, staring in disappointment at his now impaired instrument. I giggled at his expression of despair.

"Truce," I agreed. The playing subsided into talking after that, and then not much of that. George poked my arm to get my attention.

"Wanna get out of 'ere?" he murmured in my ear. I nodded, allowing him to help me to my feet. We went silently up the stairs though why we bothered, I didn't know. Were we trying not to disrupt the silence?

I shrugged my coat on and George did the same with his own coat. It was still quite cold outside, and it gave me a good excuse to snuggle up to George. For a time, we walked in silence, our fingers entwined. A question was circulating in my head, and I made the decision to ask.

"When's yer birthday?" we asked at the same time. I laughed and put my head on his shoulder "February 25th," we said together again. George threw his head back and laughed, his breath misting in the frigid air.

"Well, one thing's fer sure," George chuckled "It's gonna be pretty hard for either of us to forget the other's birthday." This struck me as curiously hilarious, and it took me a minute to be able to make speech normally. George looked at me in bemusement "Wot's so funny?" he questioned.

"I-I-" I gasped for air "I don't know!" He chuckled, pulling me against him tightly.

"I don't understand ya, Emily Scott, but I do love ya." I squeezed his hand. Snow began to softly fall on our heads and several flakes attached themselves to my eyelashes. I blinked rapidly to rid myself of them, and then I felt George's gloved hand wipe the rest of them away. We stood in the snow for awhile, exchanging small conversation, but running footsteps interrupted us.

"'Ey!" Paul's voice cut through the crisp night air "Could a certain pair of lovebirds kindly return to the 'ouse before we drag ya back?" George inconspicuously scooped up a handful of snow and hid it behind his back. I kept my face as straight as possible, hoping that whatever evidence of a smirk on my face would be covered up by the poor lighting.

"Sure, Paul," George called "Be there in a sec!" When Paul started to turn, George hurled a neatly packed snowball straight at Paul's back. It hit him with a solid thud and he whipped around, yelling in surprise and grabbing a handful of the snow himself. A full-fledged snow fight was now taking place. Everyone else came running outside at the sound of the commotion and quickly joined in, since there were 10 of us, it was a five on five war. Sarah and I had joined the boys' team, but the rest of Blessed Day was easily overtaking us. A white blur suddenly hurtled toward my face.

"IT'S A FIENDISH THINGY!" George yelled dramatically, tackling me to the ground. I felt the menacing snowball whizz over my head, missing me by a hair... literally. George propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at me as if inspecting for signs of harm.

"My hero!" I sighed with a smirk on my lips "'Ow could I ever repay ya?" George gave this some serious thought. But before he could open his mouth, John interrupted him.

"Alright Georgie boy, let's keep this appropriate fer mixed company." Even in the poor light, it was obvious that both George and I had turned brilliant shades of red. John always seemed to have the wrong comment handy at just exactly the wrong time. George ignored the taunts and gave me a sweet, little kiss on the lips. John's face was stony and unreadable as he packed a snowball and chucked it in a random direction. Sarah yelped in pain, clutching the back of her head. She wasted no time in sending a return missile. This one hit John somewhat south of his belt and he hissed in pain, growling a few well-placed expletives.

"I think this snowball fight 'as reached an end," said Paul tentatively. I nodded, heading back inside. The rest of our small group soon followed. For at least another thirty minutes, we sat in front of the fire, exchanging lighthearted conversation. After awhile, Blessed Day packed up and left. It was quite late and we immediately got ready for bed. I fell asleep that night wondering what I could possibly get George for his birthday.

**George's POV**

The next few days flew by in a jumbled blur. Both bands were so busy with either the recording studio or gigging that I only saw Emily late at night when she was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. Sometimes, she fell asleep talking to me and I'd have to carry her to her room. Her face looked so beautiful when she slept, unless of course she was having a father-related nightmare. I felt so awful when she had one of those; I was her boyfriend, shouldn't I have been able to help her through them better and make them go away?

It was the day before our shared birthday and I still hadn't bought her a present. The reason for this was twofold; I really hadn't had any time because of musical commitments and I also had absolutely no idea what to get her. I wanted to get her something that would be a perfect expression of my love to her. Unfortunately for me, it's hard to express something so unbelievably huge. Really hard.

"Oi! Georgie boy! Care to rejoin the conversation?" Paul poked my arm with his index finger and I nearly shot through the ceiling in surprise. I received odd looks all around. Brian was inspecting my face for the beginnings of illness, and the rest of them chuckled knowingly. They knew exactly where my mind was.

"So as I was saying," Brian began again "I think this album should be released in about a month. We've got all of the recording done now, all there is to be done is the final mixes." The four of us exchanged looks of mixed nervousness and excitement. It was the first album we'd ever done and we were beyond eager to see how it would do with the public.

John grinned "Where're we goin', fellas?" he asked, voicing what had become our battle cry.

"To the top, Johnny!" we chorused.

"An' which top is that?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow, a look he'd perfected.

"To the toppermost of the poppermost, Johnny!" we howled. Brian shook his head at us as though he couldn't figure out where our energy came from to save his life.

"Er, Brian, are we done fer the day?" I asked.

"I suppose you are, why?" He looked a bit baffled.

I jumped out of my chair faster than I would have if it was on fire "Thanks, Eppy!" I called over my shoulder on my way out the door. Before I was out of earshot, I heard Brian ask the others exactly what was going on. Their voices had faded away before I had the chance to hear their answer, but it didn't bother me overly much. I had other, more pressing matters to deal with.

Once in the main shopping center of the area, I pulled my hat low over my eyes and scanned the shop windows. Even though I had an older sister, girls were pretty much a forgein species to me. I didn't really understand them, didn't know what they liked or disliked. All I knew was that I was in love with a truly wonderful one.

Thankfully, no one seemed to recognize me with my hat pulled down, coat collar pulled up, and hands burrowed deep in my pockets.

I wandered aimlessly up and down the streets, my eyes roaming across the windows. None of it appeared to be anything Emily would like. The beginnings of extreme frustration were just beginning to invade my mind when I saw it: sitting as the centerpiece in the jewelry shop window was an absolutely gorgeous necklace display. One could have their pick from any letter in the alphabet to place on a delicate silver chain. The letters were in fanciful script and embedded with what looked to be real diamonds due to the cost of it. They weren't overly large or gaudy, simply the perfect balance of extravagance and simplicity. I knew immediately that this was what I had been looking for.

I walked into the shop and one of the sales attendants came up to me "Excuse me, sir, what can I 'elp ya with?" she asked politely.

I adopted a heavy Irish accent "Top o' the afternoon to ya lass! I was just wonderin' if I could purchase one o' these fine necklaces?" She nodded. I mentally snickered; this accent made me sound funny to even my ears.

"Yes you may," she responded "Is there any particular letter that strikes yer fancy?" I pointed to the letter 'E' and she got the chain and letter for me "Will that be all, sir?"

"Aye, indeed it would," I was way overdoing the accent and mannerisms, but she didn't seem to notice.

I followed her to the front of the store and paid for my purchase "Would ya like this wrapped, sir?" I said yes and she put it in an elegant, little white box with a blue satin ribbon on top. It was lovely.

"Ta, luv!" I gave my identity away at the last second before I left the shop. Her facial expression was one of confusion before the door swung shut. The other part of my gift could wait until tomorrow, as it included dinner, ice skating, and flowers.

**Emily's POV**

"We're about halfway done with the recordin' of this album," the sound of Ben's voice brought my head crashing out of the clouds where I'd been pondering what I should get George for his birthday tomorrow. I was only beginning to figure out the many complexities of his personality and as a result I didn't have the first idea of what he might like.

"And we'll talk promotion an' all that good stuff when the music is done," Michael added. Fergus started from where he had been nodding off against the table.

"Mmph? I 'gree with Ben, there," he said, blinking owlishly. Ben laughed, stretching his arms above his head.

"I'm thinkin' this meeting 'as gone on long enough," he said "An' since it's our dear little sister's birthday in a few short hours an' we won't see 'er tomorrow, we've got a birthday present." They pulled guitars from behind their chairs and began to sing a very familiar song.

_Now that I've lost everything to you, _

_You say you want to start something new, _

_And it's breaking my heart you're leaving, _

_Baby I'm grieving. _

_But if you want to leave take good care, _

_Hope you have a lot of nice things to wear, _

_But then a lot of nice things turn bad out there. _

_Oh baby baby it's a wild world, _

_It's hard to get by just upon a smile. _

_Oh baby baby it's a wild world. _

_I'll always remember you like a child, girl. _

_You know I've seen a lot of what the world can do,_

_And it's breaking my heart in two, _

_Cause I never want to see you sad girl, _

_Don't be a bad girl, _

_But if you want to leave take good care, _

_Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there, _

_But just remember there's a lot of bad and beware, _

_Beware, _

_Oh baby baby it's a wild world, _

_It's hard to get by just upon a smile _

_Oh baby baby it's a wild world, _

_And I'll always remember you like a child, girl. _

_Baby I love you, but if you want to leave take good care, _

_Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there, _

_But just remember there's a lot of bad, _

_And beware, beware, _

_Oh baby baby it's a wild world, _

_It's hard to get by just upon a smile. _

_Oh baby baby it's a wild world, _

_And I'll always remember you like a child, girl._

I teared up "You guys are the best!" I pulled them into a huge hug "You'll come over tomorrow, right?"

"Oh, gee, I dunno. I mean, it's only our little sister's birthday. How important could that be?" asked Michael, identical smirks curling my twin brothers' mouths "Of course we will! If you'll give us directions, of course?" I scribbled some driving directions down on a scrap of paper, hugged my brothers goodbye, and nearly ran out the door to try my luck at finding the perfect present.

When I arrived at the shopping center, a surprise awaited. George was walking toward me, his hat down over his eyes. I ducked under the awning of the nearest tea shop to avoid recognition. I had a suspicion that George was on the same mission that I was on, and I didn't want to ruin either of our surprises. He frowned in exasperation and crossed the street to look at the windows over there.

I darted out from my hiding place and turned the corner to continue my shopping excursion elsewhere. A nice little music shop greeted my eyes. I gazed wistfully at a sleek black and white Gretsch Duo Jet guitar. It was one that both George and I shared a love for and I wanted so, so badly to buy it for him, but it lay considerably out of my price range. Or did it? I had been squirreling away most of my salary ever since I started working for the Beatles and my pay was quite good. I checked how much money I had, looked at the price tag again, and found that while it would significantly drain my profits, I could afford it.

"Pardon me sir," I tapped an employee on the shoulder. He turned to face me with a pleasant smile.

"Yes, ma'am? Wot can I do for ya?" he asked.

"I would like to purchase this guitar." I indicated the Gretsch by pointing at it. He smiled widely.

"Ah yes, the Duo Jet," he said jovially "One of our most popular models! Would you like it wrapped?" I nodded.

"Yes, please." I watched as he wrapped the gorgeous instrument in a box and tied a white ribbon around it. I paid for it and made a serious attempt not to skip out of the shop.

I made my way to Mo's house next. It would be an impossible task to hide it at the house, and since Mo was coming to the party I thought she could come early and help me find a decent place to put it.

I knocked at the door and Mo opened it almost immediately "'Ey, Emily!" she said brightly "How're ya... wot's that?" She pointed to the box in my arms.

"George's birthday present," I responded "It's a guitar." A huge smile broke across her face.

"You need a place to put it 'till tomorrow, don't ya?" I nodded. She brought me inside and we put it in her room "So," she said, sitting on her bed "How's it between you an' George?" I grinned and flopped back on her bed.

"It's more than I ever could've wished for," I said honestly "He's sweet, he's kind an' carin', an' 'e loves me for me!" I sighed "I could be askin' you the same thing. How's it goin' with Ringo?"

Her smile was nearing her ears at each end "He's wonderful! I just couldn't ask for anything more." We giggled like a pair of moonstruck teenagers.

We sat in silence for a moment, and then I spoke up "Mo?"

"Yeah?"

"D'you think George'll like his present?" I asked. She smiled.

"Almost as much as he loves you, which is a huge feat in itself."

(I take no credit for Wild World. It belongs to Cat Stevens, who is awesome!)


	18. Chapter 18

**Emily's POV**

I stayed at Mo's house for several more hours, talking and laughing, until I realized it had gone dark outside. "Oh, yikes! I'd better go, Mo. The boys 'ave no idea 'ow to cook and they're probably starvin'!" I laughed, getting up.

Mo giggled. "I wish I could come with ya, I 'aven't seen Ritchie in _ages_!" I was so used to calling him Ringo that I had nearly forgotten that Richard Starkey was his real name.

"You'll see 'im tomorrow, remember?" The little house was going to be jam packed with people, as we'd invited pretty much everyone we knew. I gave Mo a quick hug as I ran out the door. "Don't forget the guitar!" She laughed.

"'Ow could I forget? You've been worrying the subject to death ever since you got 'ere!" I blushed.

"Have I really?" Being in love must really have been doing a number on my brain.

"No, but it did come up several times," she replied. "Now get goin'! Ya don't want the boys to eat their shoes because you were caught up in talkin' to me!"

"Alright, bye Mo," I said, waving. She waved back, smiling.

I caught a cab back to the house, not wanting to walk in the bitter wind that had sprung up since I had gone to Mo's house. The cab driver was quite friendly, recognizing me from Blessed Day and not as the girl that was rumored to be dating George Harrison.

"'Ey, yer that lead guitarist in a really gear little band, what was it called... Blessed Day, right?" he asked.

"That's the one," I nodded, looking out the window.

He laughed in delight. "I really enjoy when yer little group plays at the Cavern, yer one of the better groups up there, right up alongside those Beatle blokes."

"That's really quite flattering," I said, feeling quite pleased at the compliment.

"It's only the truth! You kids'll be goin' places, I'm sure of it," he said, nodding to himself.

I grinned. "Thanks, it means a lot. I'll pass the compliments along to the rest of the band."

He chuckled, tapping the wheel. "Well, 'ere we are. Um, if it's not too much to ask, could I trouble ye for an autograph? Me young daughter loves yer group as well an' I'm sure she'd just love one." This was the first time I'd been recognized, let alone asked for an autograph.

"I'd love to, what's 'er name?" I said, pulling a notepad and pen out of my purse.

"'Er name's Mel," he said proudly. I could tell that his little girl meant the world to him.

_To Mel, all the best and thanks for listening to us! ~Emily Scott, Blessed Day_

I pulled the page out and handed it to him. "I can't thank ye enough," he said, tucking the paper into his coat pocket. "Mellie's awful sweet on yer drummer," he chuckled as I got out. I laughed while I paid my fare. That wasn't exactly a new thing; more and more we were finding that most of our female fans fancied Fergus and loved it when he sang. I couldn't blame them, he had a wonderful voice. But we were also finding that Aaron was getting his fair share of female attention, especially when he sang ballad-type songs which seemed to suit his voice the best. He just laughed when a woman made advances at him, he was faithful to his wife and girls.

"We get that a lot," I replied, walking away. "Thanks fer the ride!" He waved as he drove off.

"Where were ya?" Ringo whined as soon as I opened the door. "I'm bloody starvin'!" I laughed and hugged the forlorn drummer.

"Hello to you too, Ringo," I said. "Dinner's on it's way, 'ave no fear!" George came running down the stairs and swept me up into his arms. I pecked him on the lips and hugged him tightly. "And 'ello to you!"

"Lemme guess, you were at Mo's and lost track of time," he whispered in my ear, a lopsided grin on his face.

"How did ya know?" I asked, walking into the kitchen with George behind me.

"Whenever yer late, it's usually because you've been talkin' to Mo," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder while I washed my hands.

"You know me too well, George Harrison," I said, sighing dramatically. "Hm, let's see 'ere. What shall we 'ave fer dinner?" I mused, poking around in the refrigerator. "Well, not too much to see 'ere, but I could make some soup." George nodded enthusiastically. That guy was just so easy to please when it came to food. It could be leftover peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and he would be over the moon about it.

As I was making the soup, George and I talked about how our day had gone. Once, I nearly let slip that I had bought the guitar for him, but I managed to cover it up fairly well.

As soon as the smell of chicken and vegetable soup wafted out of the kitchen the rest of the boys came piling in, sniffing appreciatively. While my back was turned to get some other ingredients, John's hand inched toward the handle of the spoon. I swatted it away. "John Winston Lennon, you keep yer hands away from that soup!" I warned without turning my head.

"'Ow did ya know it was even me? It could've been Paulie fer all you can tell!" John pouted.

"Well, yer the only one who tries to sneak food, and you just incriminated yerself," I pointed out, stirring the soup. He got the glasses out of the cupboard in a huff and went in search of some ice cubes.

Roughly ten minutes later, we sat down for dinner. "Guess what? I got asked for an autograph today," I said, grinning. Paul laughed, taking a gulp of water.

"It's only fun until the fans nearly kill ya in their eagerness," he said. "Then it loses some of the allure."

The cab driver said that his daughter was a fan and that she fancied Fergus," I chuckled, eating my soup hungrily, suddenly ravenous. "I can't wait to tell 'im about that tomorrow."

"I bet 'e'll love that," Ringo joked, finishing his soup and reaching for the bread. Fergus, though he had great stage presence, was extremely modest and shy when it came to girls. Whenever a girl approached him to tell him how much they loved him he responded kindly, but as soon as they left he turned a vibrant shade of red. This earned him many lighthearted jibes from Sarah.

We didn't do much for the rest of the night, just sat around and listened to the radio. It was becoming exceedingly difficult to find a radio station that didn't play a Beatles song every other song.

At around ten-thirty, I felt my eyelids start to get heavy. "Well, I'm gonna go to bed, g'night all," I gave George a goodnight kiss and went upstairs. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out.

**George's POV**

As soon as Emily went upstairs, I pulled the box with the necklace in it out of my pocket. Paul saw the box and his eyes widened.

"George, it's a bit early to be thinkin' about tyin' the knot, don't ya think?" I laughed, opening the box to show them the necklace inside.

"It is, which is why it's not on my mind," I said, stretching out on the couch. "D'you think she'll like it?"

Ringo nodded. "She'll love it, mate. Pretty, yet simple." I grinned at the drummer that was one of my best friends in the world.

Paul stretched, yawning. "We've got a big day tomorrow, so I'm gonna hit the sack. 'Night, fellas," he got up and headed in the direction of his room. One by one, we all went to our rooms to go to sleep. I was the last one. I stared at the necklace for several minutes, wondering how Emily was going to respond to it. When I finally went to bed, I was asleep within seconds.

The next morning, I woke up uncharacteristically early and went downstairs. It was so early that I was the only one awake. I pulled my acoustic guitar out of its case and strummed it, playing bits and pieces of my favorite songs. Soon, Emily came downstairs wearing her ivy colored dress. It was my favorite dress on her, the color suited her ivory skin and fiery hair well.

"Good morning sleepyhead," I teased her, getting up to give her a hug. "You'll be shocked to know that I've been up for a whole ten minutes already," I joked, kissing her forehead.

She feigned astonishment. "Goodness me, a whole ten minutes, what an accomplishment!" She flicked my nose. "I'm gonna go make breakfast," she started to go into the kitchen, but I caught her by the shoulders and turned her around.

"Uh-uh, we're making the breakfast today, go sit down," I instructed. She gave me a look. "Well, we are! Ya cook and do pretty much everything fer us an' I figured that since it's yer-our-birthday, we could at least make breakfast for ya!" She laughed with a shake of her head and went to go sit down.

"Alright, alright," she conceded. "But I do have one request. Please don't burn the house down or do anything else stupid, 'kay?" I grinned at her and waved my hand, unwilling to make that promise because you never knew what would happen when there were four young men in the same room.

I ran upstairs to rouse my kitchen helpers, who at that moment did not know they were my kitchen helpers. I figured that I should start with Ringo, since he'd be the most understanding with my cause.

I tiptoed into his room and shook his arm. "Ringo?" I whispered. He mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over, snuggling down into his pillows. "Ringo!" I repeated, stage whispering. He sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes slowly.

"Wha'? Is the 'ouse on fire?" he asked. "'Cause I remember sayin' last night that I didn't want to be woken up unless it was." I rolled my eyes and pulled the blankets all the way off of him.

"No, it's Emily's birthday, and mine too, and we're going downstairs as soon as I get the others up to make breakfast," I said firmly. Ringo yawned, stretching for a ridiculously long time before he answered.

"Well, I guess that's a good enough cause for me to heave my arse out of bed," he chuckled, swinging his legs over to the side of the bed and getting out. "Lemme wake John up an' you can get Paul. Since it's yer birthday, you shouldn't 'ave to risk yer life." I smiled at him, sending him a silent thank you, and went to go wake Paul up.

But when I got to his room, I found him already awake and meticulously cleaning his beloved Hofner bass. Paul looked up and saw me. "Morning, Geo. Happy birthday!" I grinned and came into his room.

"G'morning, Paul, thanks. I was just wonderin' if you'd 'elp me make breakfast this morning-" Paul cut me off with a say-no-more gesture.

"Of course I will, I take it this is part of yer birthday present for Emily?" he asked, getting to his feet. I nodded, relieved that he'd already been up. None of us were pleasant people in the morning if we were forcibly woken up. "That's really sweet of ya, Georgie," he said.

A lot of grumbling suddenly issued from the general direction of John's room. "That'd be Rings tryin' to get John's arse up," I sighed. Paul followed me into John's room where we found Ringo staring at the lump in the middle of the bed, completely covered by the blankets, that was John. I rolled my eyes, regretting that he couldn't see me.

"Really mature, John," I said, motioning for Paul to grab the other side of the blanket. On my silent count of three, we pulled the blankets off him and Ringo grabbed his ankles.

"I bloody hate you all!" John shouted, grabbing onto his pillows in an attempt to remain on the bed.

"C'mon John, it's fer Emily's birthday!" Ringo pleaded with the grumpy guitarist. That seemed to strike a note in John and he struggled into a crumpled sitting position.

"It is?" he asked. Ringo sighed loudly.

"Yes, that's what I've been trying to tell you ever since I came in 'ere!" he cried in exasperation. John slowly slid out of bed and shuffled for the stairs. His reaction struck a protective chord in me and I vowed to keep a closer eye on him.

Once we were down in the kitchen, I stared into the refrigerator blankly. "What should we make? I don't know 'ow to cook!" This was starting to seem like a bad idea.

"Erm, I've seen Jane cook a couple of times and she's tried to teach me..." Paul trailed off. "I mean, I think I can sort of remember 'ow to make pancakes."

"Well, sort of will 'ave to be good enough," I said, flipping through a recipe book. "Aha! 'Ere's a recipe for pancakes!" We crowded around the book and read the instructions.

"It looks easy enough," Ringo commented. "Let's get started!" I pulled a mixing bowl, a mixer, and the measuring ingredients out of the cupboard and the others gathered the ingredients.

"Okay, it says 'ere that we're supposed to be putting the eggs, the sugar, an' the flour in an' mix 'em up," Ringo read out of the cookbook. John pulled the correct number of eggs—two—out of the carton and set them gingerly in the mixing bowl. Paul let out a laugh.

"John, yer supposed to crack 'em before ya put 'em in the bowl," he chuckled, fishing the eggs out of the bowl. "Like this." He rapped the egg smartly on the edge of the bowl and at the same time squeezed far too hard and the egg oozed all over his hand.

John fell over laughing. "Just like that, huh?" he chortled, patting Paul on the back. Paul shot him an irate stare and rinsed his hands off.

After a few more horrendously failed attempts, we got the two eggs in the bowl mostly unscathed. The sugar was much less difficult to measure out and put in. We dropped the stick of butter that the recipe called for in and blended the ingredients we had so far.

I was in charge of the blending duties and immediately turned the blender up to full throttle, thinking that more power would get the job done faster. I was so, so wrong. Everything immediately started spraying everywhere and the button got stuck.

"George, turn that damn thing off, for God's sake!" John yelped, diving under the table after receiving a face full of the mixture. Ringo lunged for the plug and pulled it out, stopping the demonic beaters from spraying our pancake mix every which way.

Paul peered tentatively into the bowl. "It looks like most of it stayed in the bowl," he said, wiping the droplets off his forehead. John crawled out from underneath the table, wiping the goo off his face and grumbling all the while.

"I'll get the flour," I said, stretching up to the top cupboard to reach the bag of it. While Paul measured out the flour, John dipped his hand into the bag and sprinkled it on Paul's head until he became aware of what John was doing.

"John!" he exclaimed, swatting at his hair to remove any of the offending substance. He then grabbed a handful of the white powder and dropped it in John's hair. John promptly retaliated with a handful tossed at the back of Paul's head, which missed and hit Ringo square in the face. After a moment of stunned silence, Ringo took the bag and dropped a bunch of the flour down John's shirt. He then proceeded to toss a load of it into my hair. I did the same to him, and soon we were in a full fledged flour fight. There was a cloud hanging in the air, making it very hard to see, and I hadn't known previously that flour makes floors very slippery. Ringo took a wrong step and went flying, knocking into Paul who also crashed to the floor with an earth-shaking thud.

Emily came running into the room, her hair flying behind her. As soon as she saw the mess, she stopped dead. "What on earth happened in here?" she asked. Nobody moved a muscle as the cloud of powder settled. I squirmed uncomfortably, trying to get the flour out of my pants that John had been responsible for. A bunch of it dropped through my pants legs to the floor, creating a soft puff of the substance.

That did it; Emily burst into a peal of laughter and grabbed the counter for support. Soon, we were all laughing helplessly. When she finally seemed to be able to speak properly, she gasped out, "But what happened? Did you guys seriously have a flour fight?" We looked at each other, at the mess, and at her and nodded. She shook her head. "You guys amaze me sometimes," she laughed. "Once we get this cleaned up, I'll make breakfast while you get cleaned up." I tried to protest. "I don't think this kitchen can survive another one of your 'cooking attempts'," she said, patting me on the shoulder.

We set about to cleaning up, and Emily made breakfast. For the rest of the day, we didn't do much, we just sat around and had a laid back jam session. At around four o'clock, a ring at the doorbell revealed that Maureen had arrived. Ringo answered the door and pulled her into a long kiss.

Emily cleared her throat. "Erm, Mo? Didn't ya want to show me something?" she asked. Mo's eyes widened in understanding.

"Oh, right! It's in the backseat," she said. They went out to the car and Ringo grabbed my arm.

"What, Rings?" I asked, trying to watch Emily go out to the car with Mo.

"I just remembered that I thought I saw a popped string on yer guitar!" he said, dragging me downstairs to examine my beloved instrument. When we got down to the basement, the strings looked as they should. "Well, must 'ave been me imagination, sorry mate!" he exclaimed brightly.

Mo and Emily had come back in by the time we got back upstairs. "That was a lovely dress, Mo. It'll go great with yer 'air," Emily was saying as we came back into earshot.

"You really think so?" Mo asked.

"Definitely," Emily said firmly.

Soon after, Jane came knocking on the door. I heard Emily open the door and say, "Oh, you must be Jane! Paul's told me so much about ya!"

Jane laughed. "Only good things, I 'ope?" she teased. Paul swept her up in a hug.

"'Ello, love!" he whispered into her hair. She kissed his cheek sweetly and came to sit down with the rest of us. Snow was just beginning to fall when Emily's brothers showed up.

"Mike! Ben!" she exclaimed, running into their arms. They looked so much alike, it was nearly impossible to tell them apart unless you knew what to look for. They spotted me and came over to say hello.

"So, yer the fella who's won our sister's 'eart?" one of them, Michael I think, asked, shaking my hand. They seemed friendly enough, but I was a little wary. Older siblings, especially male ones, had a tendency to beat up a younger sister's boyfriend.

"That'd be me, yes," I replied.

They smiled. "Ya seem like a nice enough bloke, but know this," Ben said. "Break her heart," he began, "And we break yer face," Michael finished. I gulped and assured them that I would keep that in mind.

In the next half-hour, the wind had escalated to a howl and the snow was so thick you could hardly see out the window. A quick check on the news had reports of a long and brutal snowstorm, which might have canceled our birthday date if Emily hadn't been so stubborn.

"I 'ope the rest of them get 'ere soon," Emily peered out the window anxiously. About three minutes later, the rest of her band came bursting through the doors, looking thoroughly chilled.

"Christ, it's bloody freezin' out there!" Fergus gasped, rubbing his arms briskly. All of the girls piled on Emily for a group hug. Aaron and Fergus stood around awkwardly until the girls dragged them into the hug with much dragging of the feet and protesting.

"Em, I don't think we should go out there tonight," I pulled her aside an hour later while everyone was talking. "It's too cold and windy." She pouted, tracing her finger across my arm.

"Aw, come on Georgie!" she exclaimed. "We can skip the ice skating for another time, but I just want some alone time with ya on our birthday," she kissed my lips gently. "Please?" she pleaded.

"First of all, 'ow did ya know about the ice skating?" I asked, she wasn't supposed to know about that!

"I do 'ave ears, y'know," she informed me, kissing me again. "Please, George?" I couldn't say no to that look.

"Well..." I trailed off. "Okay, but we can't spend too much time outside, I don't want me girlfriend freezin' to death!" She tapped my nose and grabbed her coat, tossing mine to me.

"'Ave fun, you two!" Ringo called after us, wiggling his eyebrows. Emily darted back to ruffle his hair before skipping out the door and into the car.

The date was fabulous, which could only be expected. We only went to the restaurant, as the walk and skating had to be scrapped due to the weather. Thankfully, it was mostly empty there and I kept my eyes down whenever anyone came to the table. Emily did all the talking and I think it's safe to say that she accidentally charmed the heck out of our waiter. He was so smitten by the end of the night that I was about ready to smack him and he could hardly string a sentence together.

"Uh, are y-you doing an-anything later?" he managed to stutter out. Emily raised an eyebrow at him and flicked her hair over her shoulder.

"Yes, in fact I am," she said. "I'm spending the rest of my birthday night with my boyfriend and my friends." The waiter wilted like a bowl of week-old salad. "Goodbye and have a nice night!" she said, waving at him as we left the restaurant.

When we got in the car, I was silent on the drive back. "George, are you okay?" I nodded, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. "You're jealous, aren't you?" she asked incredulously.

"No, I'm not!" I disagreed, though my feelings were present on my face for all to see.

"You are!" she realized. "George, did you honestly think I would fall for someone like that when I've got someone like you?" The full realization of what she said hit me. I felt really stupid.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "It's just that, well," I couldn't think of anything to say.

"It's okay, George," she whispered, touching my hair with her fingertips. "It's only natural." I looked over to smile at her, but in that second, I lost control of the car and we went careening off the road.

A loud crashing and screeching noise sounded as an impact rattled through the car and I managed to scream Emily's name before everything went black.


	19. Chapter 19

**Paul's POV**

Since the two birthday people had gone to dinner, there wasn't much the rest of us could do but wait for them to return.

"I bet they're havin' a great time," Jane remarked from her seat on my lap. I played with a strand of her light red hair.

"They can do just about anything and 'ave fun," Ringo said, looping his arms around Maureen's waist. She laughed and kissed him and we teased them by oohing and awwwing until the pair was bright red in the face.

The phone rang, an odd occurrence for that time of night, and I answered it. "Hello, Paul McCartney speaking, who is this?"

"This is the Merseyside Hospital calling," the voice responded.

Now that really was odd. "May I help you?" I asked, mouthing 'hospital' in response to the questioning stares from the people in the room and shrugged.

"Mr. George Harrison and Ms. Emily Scott are being transported 'ere by ambulance an' it is our duty as the staff to-" Ice water seeped through my veins and I sagged against the table.

"Are you sure it's them?" I asked hoarsely, clearing my throat several times.

"Mr. McCartney, it is our duty as a staff to ensure-" the voice droned on.

"Yes, okay, fine. But are they going to be okay? And what the bloody 'ell happened anyway?" I butted in, not caring about how rude I might be sounding. Two of my best friends were either at the hospital or currently en route and I wanted to know why.

"Your concern is understandable," the voice responded and I nearly threw the phone against the opposite wall in irritation. "Their car was found off the road and the estimation is that the car hit a patch of black ice, spun off the road, and hit a tree." What little blood that remained in my face drained from it. Why hadn't I suggested they stay home? It was obviously bad weather, how could I have let them go out?

"Thank you," I whispered, feeling a lump in the back of my throat.

"Paul, what's wrong?" Jane inquired, touching my face. I shook my head, indicating that I needed a few seconds to collect my thoughts.

"Emily an' George, they, they-" I couldn't force the words out. Michael and Ben instantly shot up from the couch and looked at me with matching wild expressions.

"What 'appened to our sister, Paul?" Michael asked in a low voice.

"They, they were in a, a car crash," I whispered, hanging my head.

"Are they okay?" Ben demanded. "Is my sister okay?" His voice cracked and he brushed at his eyes impatiently.

"I dunno," I admitted. "They were still in the ambulance when the lady called." In an instant, the twin brothers were heading for the door. "Where're ya goin'?" I asked.

"The 'ospital," Michael answered, getting his keys out of his pocket. "I've got to know if she's okay. It was bad enough, losin' mum last year-" Ringo's brow crinkled in confusion.

"I thought Emily said yer mum was alive," he said. Ben shook his head.

"She died of pneumonia last winter," he said. "We've been tryin' to break the news to 'er ever since the band got the recordin' deal."

Mo gasped, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. "She was a good woman," she said, burying her face in Ringo's shirt. He rubbed her back gently, at a loss for words. We sat quietly for a few seconds, then John spoke up.

"If yer goin' to the hospital, I think we all should," he said, looking very tense. "That way, we all know what's 'appening." The snow was starting to lessen just a bit and John was right. None of us wanted to be left out of the loop.

"I'll drive one of the cars," Aaron offered, looking shaken. In the end, Blessed Day piled into one car, Mo, Jane, and Cynthia (who had arrived quite late due to a fussy Julian who she had ended up bringing along and also to poor road conditions) took a car, Ben and Michael took their car, and the three remaining Beatles took Ringo's car.

The drive was a tersely silent one, concentration on the road and worry. When we arrived at the hospital, we ran into the building and right up to the desk. The desk manager looked a bit taken aback at having two famous music groups, or at least parts of them, and two producers suddenly appear.

"Emily Scott an' George Harrison were taken 'ere by ambulance," I said before John had the opportunity to open his mouth and get us thrown out.

"Yes, yes of course," the lady said kindly. "Mr. Harrison is able to 'ave visitors, but Ms. Scott is not." Ben clenched his jaw.

"Why?" he asked, quiet tension burning in his words and his voice.

"Ms. Scott received a severe blow to the back of her 'ead and a few broken ribs. She lost a significant amount of blood and is still in intensive care," she said sadly, noting that several people in our party had significantly brighter eyes than usual. "Mr. Harrison's room is 305A if you'd like to visit 'im," she suggested.

"I think we'll do that, thanks," Sarah said in a small voice, clutching tightly to her older brother's arm.

Somehow, we managed to cram ourselves into an elevator and went up to George's floor. He was laying on his bed with bandages on his arms and chest and was wearing only pajama bottoms. His face was turned toward the window.

"Knock, knock," Ringo murmured, rapping his fist gently on the doorframe.

"Come in," he whispered hoarsely, turning to face us with an obviously tear stained face. We sat down on all of the available seats, and then the floor. Babies weren't allowed on this floor and Cynthia had opted to stay and wait in the lobby.

"'Ow are ya feelin', Georgie?" Mo asked, knowing that it was a stupid question.

"I'm fine, at least this doesn't hurt," he gestured to his bandages."But this is hurtin' pretty bad," he pointed to his head and his heart. "It was all my fault," he croaked, fresh tears beading in his eyes.

"Don't say that, George," Ben said, resting his chin on his fists with a world weary sigh. "No one controls the ice on the roads." George shook his head.

"No, it was my fault," he insisted. "I took a hand off the wheel an' my eyes. She would be okay if I was a better driver, she wouldn't 'ave a head injury an' broken ribs. She would be okay!" The tears spilled over and his thin shoulders shook with sobs as he covered his face with his hands. Sarah, who was the closest to him, stroked his hair softly, unsure of what else to do.

We kept a silent vigil after that, all of us saying the same silent prayer over and over. _Please, let Emily be okay. _

Toward the end of visiting hours, the door opened and the doctors came in, wheeling a bed into the room. Everyone was suddenly on alert. The hair cut was different, but it was undoubtedly Emily.

Michael and Ben were on their feet, going over to her bedside anxiously as the doctors got her situated. "Is she okay?" Michael asked, peering intently at her still face.

"At the moment, she's in a medicine-induced coma so she has some time to recover from the significant trauma she's suffered," a doctor explained while the other checked George's vital signs. "She'll wake up, at the moment we're not exactly sure when. And visiting hours are over in ten minutes."

George was sleeping by the time the doctors had left, so we tiptoed out the door, careful not to wake him.

No one really wanted to go home, so the decision was made to have an impromptu sleepover at the Beatles' residence. Maggie and Lucy shared a bed, Sarah and Mo shared, Cynthia, John, and Julian piled into a bed, Jane and I took a pile of blankets, and Aaron, Fergus, Michael, Ben, and Ringo found places to settle down. I don't think anyone really slept well that night.

The next morning the snow had stopped and we got back in the cars after a hastily gulped breakfast. Upon arriving at the hospital we were told that visiting hours hadn't started yet, but at Ben's and Michael's insistence we were allowed to go up.

George sat on the edge of his bed with his chin cupped in his hands, staring intensely at Emily's still unmoving form. He looked up to see us come in and attempted a weak smile.

"Mornin', George," I said, sitting down next to his bed.

"Hi," he whispered, not once moving his eyes from Emily. It was clear that Emily meant the world to him, and that he'd be crushed if any permanent harm came to her. I mean, so would the rest of us, but it would be nothing compared to George's grief.

"George, weird question, but could I borrow the phone in 'ere?" Ben requested. George shot him a strange look, but nodded in consent. "Ta," he said, getting up to use it.

The conversation faded away again and all ears focused on Ben's call.

"'Ello, yes, this is Ben Scott." His voice started out mellow and smooth. "Uh-huh, one of the producers of Blessed Day." He pulled a chair up to the phone and I got the impression that it might be a long phone conversation.

"Right, well, I'd like to cancel their gigs with ya for the next month." Michael tensed as though ready to leap to his brother's aid if need be. Evidently, the person on the other end had some talking to do, because Ben was silent for a long moment.

"Now see 'ere!" exclaimed Ben suddenly. "I'm one of their managers; I 'ave the right to cancel their performances whenever I need to! If ya must know, our lead guitarist is in the 'ospital... Absolutely not! I'm not about to try an' find a last minute stand-in for 'er." Ben now looked as though he might hurl the phone at the nearest solid object.

"Oh, really? Well, that's no great loss to them. 'Ave a nice day, sir!" Ben hung the phone up to a quiet storm of applause and took a bow. The turn of events seemed to lighten George up just a bit, because a tiny laugh escaped his lips.

"What was that all about?" Maggie asked, still giggling a bit.

"Oh, well, I don't reckon we'll be gettin' any calls fer gigs at that place near Blackpool fer awhile," Ben replied. "They were quite rude, really," he said in a posh accent.

We didn't stay long that day. While Brian felt nearly as bad as we did about the whole thing, he still insisted that we come into the studio. He did, however, cancel several of our gigs.

We got a lot of things done, but it just didn't feel right without George.

**Ringo's POV**

For the next three days, we practically lived at the hospital. We had a sort of system set up; who went on food runs, which band needed to leave for musical obligations and so on. George was discharged from the hospital, but he was constantly at Emily's side.

At one rare moment that everyone was taking a break to get some air, I was alone with George. He had really started to look worse for the wear; he hadn't been sleeping much and there were dark circles beginning to appear under his eyes.

"She's not gonna wake up, is she?" he asked monotonously, staring blankly at a section of the wall.

"What are ya talkin' about?" I asked in disbelief. "Emily's not about to give up that easily! Yer her boyfriend; you know 'ow stubborn an' resilient she can be. Remember the time she insisted that we were goin' out while we were on tour because she needed air, even though Brian said expressly not to?" George nodded. "I never knew that you could actually rappel out a window with bed sheets," I chuckled, reminiscing. George allowed himself to laugh a little.

"That was one for the records, wasn't it?" he said, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Listen mate," I said, putting an arm around his shoulders. "It's all gonna be okay."

"I 'ope so, Rings," he said, taking Emily's limp hand from the pale, scratchy hospital blanket and holding it between both of his own tenderly. The rest of our group came back in shortly after that. Our mostly silent vigil was resumed until dinner. I wasn't sure why we were so quiet. It just felt strange to try and make conversation too often. The words were stiff and awkward and faded away almost as soon as they touched the air.

"Mo, are you hungry?" I asked, rubbing her back.

"I could use a bit of food," she said, getting to her feet. I put my arm around her waist and led her out the door. We wandered down to the hospital cafeteria, the staff had gotten accustomed to hungry musicians popping in and out rather frequently. They just didn't let us pay for anything. Even if we put money in the tip jar, they'd fish it out and return it. At one point, one of the female counter attendants had chased Fergus down a hallway with a one pound note that he'd paid for a bottle of soda. Maggie had dissolved into giggles by this point in the story, but I deduced that Fergus had gotten his money back.

I got Mo and I a couple of sandwiches and tea. "George is takin' all of this hard," Mo said sympathetically as we sat down.

"Yeah, he is," I said, taking a bite of my sandwich.

"I 'ope Emily wakes up soon," she said, sipping her tea slowly. I wrapped my fingers around the warmness of my own cup.

I leaned back in the rickety wooden chair. "So do I," I muttered. "So do I."

We finished our meals and went back in the direction of Emily's room. Soon, we stood outside the door. "I love ya, y'know?" I said, taking her delicate hands in mine and pulling her close.

"I seem to remember 'earing that from someone," she teased, kissing me softly. I kissed her back quickly and opened the door. It seemed as though no one had moved an inch since we left.

"Anything 'appen?" Mo asked Lucy as she sat down next to me on the couch.

"No," Lucy shook her head, running a hand through her black curls. "We thought her 'and twitched earlier, but nothing's 'appened since." Mo sighed and shook her head, squeezing my hand.

Silence returned, hanging thickly in the air like London fog. The stark whiteness did nothing to help. The walls were white, the tiled floor was white, even the bed that Emily laid on was white. The chairs were pastel colors, which was close enough to white to add to the effect.

About half an hour later, a slight moan permeated the silence. Instantly, all eyes were focused on Emily. The silence went from thick and hazy to taught and tense. Her eyes roamed sightlessly under her eyelids. George leaned forward in his seat, his hand still around Emily's. Her fingers twitched very visibly around his.

Slowly, her eyes flickered open. "George?" she whispered, her voice croaky and frail from disuse. A collective sigh was expelled from the group and everyone appeared to deflate and relax.

"Thank God," George sighed, cupping her face in his hands gently.

"Oh God," Emily whispered, tears beading in her eyes. "I thought you-you were-" George pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. "It was all my fault, I took yer eyes off the road," she cried into his shoulder.

"Shhh, luv it's okay," murmured George. "I'm okay an' it wasn't yer fault. It was nobody's fault but the ice on the road." The rest of the occupants of the room respectfully averted their eyes for a few minutes.

"'Ey, Fergus," Emily said a time later.

"Yeah?" Fergus went over to her side. Emily started to laugh a little, which was music to everyone's ears.

"First of all, 'ow long 'ave I been out?" she asked, running a hand through her hair and then stopping short. "My hair..." she murmured.

"About four days," Paul replied. "An' about yer 'air... Well, you got a bit of a bump to the 'ead an' needed stitches. They needed to get at the wound an yer 'air was kinda in the way..." he trailed off.

"Four days... An' now I've basically got the same haircut as you blokes," she sighed. "Ah, well. What I was gonna say, Fergus, is that there's a cabbie with a daughter who's pretty darn sweet on ya," she snickered at Fergus' now bright red face.

The room exploded into laughter, loud enough to bring a nurse into the room. "Oh, Ms. Scott yer awake!" she exclaimed. Emily was still a bit out of it, but she had enough mental clarity to quirk an eyebrow.

"Well, I suppose I am. Either that or my sleepin' state is amazingly coherent," she smirked.

"You'll need to stay another few days just to make sure everything is in workin' order, but I think yer gonna be just fine," the nurse listed off with a friendly smile.

The remainder of the week was significantly more relaxed than the start of it. We started gigging again and George had gone back to normal. On Emily's first day home, we decided to continue the interrupted birthday party. The cake had to be redone as it had gotten a bit stale, but it was almost better than it had been because Emily and George were okay.

John had smeared frosting all over Paul's face and nearly caused World War III fought entirely with desserts, but Sarah had intervened by stripping all offenders of their dessert privileges. Many exclamations of disappointment followed.

George dashed upstairs and returned just as Emily went running to her room. They passed each other with expressions of mild surprise. Mo giggled with a knowing look. I shook my head, placing a kiss on the crown of her head.

"What the-" George chuckled, a tiny box clutched in his hand. Emily returned with a large box in her arms. He eyed the box in her arms curiously as she did the same to the one in his hand.

"'Ow about you open this before I open that?" Emily suggested. "I can't wait any more." Her smile stretched across her face happily as she watched George take the big box into his hands and start to open it. She drew in a breath of anticipation when he lifted the lid from the box.

George stopped dead with the lid half off. His fingers loosened from it and it fell to the ground. He reached into the box and slowly pulled a gleaming new black and white electric guitar. "It's... Wow. It's a Gretsch Duo Jet," breathed George in wonder. He gently set it down, got up, and pulled Emily into a kiss. Sarah's camera, which had been in her hands the entire night, started snapping madly.

"Yer welcome," she laughed, kissing the tip of his nose. The girls in the room sighed and cooed in adoration, but the boys gagged and mimed throwing up in the corners of the room. This reaction prompted the girls to smack the boys, who howled in fake pain.

"Yer turn," said George, pulling Emily into his lap and handing her the box. Her slender fingers pulled at the ribbon carefully as though not to harm it.

"'Urry up, will ya?" John called. "We 'aven't got all night, y'know!" Emily chucked the newly untied ribbon at him and it landed with perfect aim in John's hair. He scrunched up his nose in distaste, but before he could remove it, Sarah snapped a picture. He pounced on her and demanded that the picture not be developed, if only for the sake of his dignity. I had the feeling that the picture would be showing up at some time or another.

Small distraction aside, Emily pulled the lid off the little box and her mouth dropped open into a perfect 'o'. She lifted the pristine necklace out and turned to look at George with an expression I'd never seen before. "George..." she whispered. "It's beautiful!" she exclaimed. "I'm gonna put it on right now." She threaded it around to the back of her neck and George fastened it for her.

The other presents were opened and lots of talking and laughing followed. It was definitely better than the first attempt.

"Michael, Ben," said Emily after some time. "'Ave ya talked to mum recently? It's been awhile since I've 'eard from 'er." The atmosphere instantly became tenser.

"Well, uh-" Michael coughed, fidgeting in his seat. "Thing is-"

"She's dead," Ben said bluntly, tears dotting the corners of his eyes. "She died last winter from pneumonia."

Silence rang obnoxiously through the house and the temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I am soooooo sorry for not getting a chapter up sooner, but sophomore year is absolutely, one hundred percent nutso and I'm trying to keep my head above the ever rising waters of my homework.**

**Anyhoo, complaints aside, I hope you like this new chapter!**

**Emily's POV**

_"She's dead."_

The words rattled around in my head like marbles in an old shoe box, reverberating and repeating until it sounded like dozens of voices shouting the phrase in a cave. Tears stung my eyes and I instinctively clutched George's hand tightly.

"What d'you mean, dead?" I croaked, making every attempt not to break down and bawl like a baby. "I never even knew she was sick!" She hadn't contacted me for quite some time, but I assumed it was in part because she was busy, and also to avoid invoking the rage of my father.

Both Michael and Ben had brighter than usual eyes. "God, we're sorry Em, we were gonna tell ya right after ya got the recording contract, but-" Ben's voice broke.

"We just didn't know 'ow to break it to ya," Michael finished quietly, not bothering to masquerade the fact that crystalline tears were slipping down his cheeks. I slowly got up from George's lap and fell into the arms of my brothers. We sat there for a long time, not speaking, just making feeble attempts to comfort. Everyone else didn't really know what to do, so they quietly left the room, one by one, until it was just our broken trio of redheads.

Some time later, I got up with an air of determination. "I'm goin' out," I murmured, heading for the coat rack. Aaron grabbed my arm.

"I know what yer thinkin', an' it's way too late to go there tonight," he tried to convince me. I gently extracted my arm from his grasp.

I looked up at the man who had become a third older brother to me. "I need to do this, Aaron," I murmured, pulling my coat around myself. "I need to say, to say..." the last word wouldn't come out, but Aaron knew what I meant. He patted my shoulder gently and went to go sit down.

George came up behind me and began to put his own coat on. "Lemme go with ya," he whispered, taking my hand gently. I made no protest; having him there would be a great comfort to me.

Once we were in the car, I turned to the man I loved with a watery smile. "You've 'met' one of me parents, ready to meet the other one?" He kissed my forehead softly. A silence fell over us as we drove. It was a fairly short ride, even with a stop to the florist's, and soon George was pulling the car up next to the Liverpool Cemetery.

The night air was the kind that went straight through clothing, flesh, and blood straight to the bone, which was appropriate for the mood of the night.

I made the decision that we could find my mum's final resting place if we split up briefly. "If ya find it, give a call," I said, turning my collar up for a small amount of added warmth.

"Just so I know who I'm lookin' fer, what was 'er name?" The sound of my mother being referred to in the past tense made my stomach clench.

"Angie," I said quietly. "Angela Scott." George nodded, squeezing my hand in a comforting gesture.

I trudged off through the snow, keeping a keen eye out for a headstone with the name of my mum on it. A few times I'd double back, thinking I'd seen her name, but it wasn't. Several minutes later, George's soft voice called out.

"I think I've found 'er," My legs moved me automatically and numbly in the direction of his voice. George was standing in front of a white marble gravestone. It shone gently against the powdery snow, a light coating of the substance coated the top. I leaned slightly forward to brush it off, feeling a lump in my throat. I cleared it, coughing several times.

"Um," my voice cracked and I swallowed. "Hi mum. I'm sorry I 'aven't been, been by before, but I didn't know that ya were..." Tears leaked from my eyes and I leaned against George's chest for a moment. "Well, I didn't know ya were dead. You know Ben an' Michael, always forgettin' to tell someone something," a weak chuckle escaped my lips. "There are so many things I didn't say, but wanted to, an' now I'll never have the chance to say them to ya face to face." Tears spilled down my face in earnest now as my knees buckled to come to rest on the ground. George knelt next to me, his arm around my shoulders.

"I never blamed ya fer leavin' when ya did," I whispered. "I knew that ya needed a better life than the one dad was givin' you. The twins did a pretty good job of takin' care of me, I 'ope ya didn't worry too much." I set the bouquet of roses-her favorite flower-on the snow in front of the headstone which declared;

_Angela Layla Scott_

_May 1st, 1919_

_January 15th, 1962_

_Love never dies._

I knew that Michael and Ben had picked out the inscription. "I thought you'd like to know, mum, that I've managed to get away from dad. I'm workin' fer the Beatles, y'know, that band ya liked at yer favorite café?" George laughed a bit. "An' I'm also in a band called Blessed Day. You'd like us, I hope." I wiped some of the tears from my cheeks. "An' I've also got a boyfriend, mum," I continued. "It's George Harrison, the guitarist from the Beatles. The one you thought was cute." I laughed a little when George turned red. "I really wish I could've introduced ya properly, but I guess that isn't 'appening. I thought I'd just tell ya that he's good to me. He's sweet, kind, gentle, smart, and an all-around gentleman. I think you'd like 'im. Fer one thing, Dad sure doesn't." A sort of strangled noise came from my throat.

"Why'd ya 'ave to die, mum?" I whispered. "I never got to say goodbye, or 'ow much I love ya. So I guess I'll say those things now. I love you, mum. You taught me so many things, important life lessons such as how to avoid the fists of a drunk man or basic table manners. Ya gave me a lot of good memories, ones that I'll always cherish. I think I've run out of things to say now, which leaves one thing. I've never been good at this, but goodbye, mum." I got to my feet, feeling sobs shake my shoulders. "Goodbye."

George cleared his throat. "Mrs. Scott, I'm sure I would've liked ya a lot. Yer taste in music was gear. I just thought I'd tell ya that you should be very proud of yer daughter. She's smart, funny, beautiful, an' plays a pretty good guitar. An' she's also the kindest, sweetest person I know. If she's anything like ya, you were an amazing mum."

George pulled me tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around my waist. "I'll try to be the best boyfriend that I can to 'er an' hope you would've approved. I love yer daughter more than I could ever express in words, gestures, or music." He trailed off and cleared his throat again, in a sort of embarrassed way. I turned and kissed his cheek gently.

"Let's go," I whispered. As we walked from the cemetery, I raised my hand in a sort of final farewell. _Goodbye, mum. I love you and I'll always think of you 'till the end of my days._

When we arrived back at the house, everyone had either left or gone to bed. George and I snuck into the house and got ready for bed. When I had my nightgown on, I tiptoed over to George's room and knocked gently.

"Yeah?" George poked his head out of the door. I smiled and kissed him quickly.

"Hi," I whispered. He grinned and opened the door further, inviting me inside. I stepped in and he eased the door closed again, remembering that his door loved to creak at the most inopportune moments.

We sat on his bed for at least an hour, talking and giggling, struggling to keep our voices down. It was so easy to talk to George; it was as though I'd known him for my whole life. And I guess, in a way, I had. I'd known him the entirety of my new life away from my childhood home. I was twenty years old, I was in a band on the brink of fame, I had a lot of close friends, and a boyfriend that loved me as much as I loved him. Life just didn't get much better than that.

Midway through a conversation about different guitars, I saw that it was 2:30 am. "George!" I whispered, laughing. "It's two-thirty!" He craned his neck to examine the clock.

"So it is," he said, stretching his arms above his head, exposing a thin strip of pale white skin.

"I should go," I murmured, kissing him softly, but he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me back to the bed. I had a brief moment of déjà vu from when I'd come to wake him up and he'd pulled me on top of him.

"Stay," he breathed, his eyes swallowing me whole. I just couldn't say no.

"Okay," I said, getting under the covers and making myself comfortable. George got under the covers as well. I snuggled up against him so that the curves of our bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. His arms went around my waist and I was lulled to sleep by the steady sound of his heartbeat.

**George's POV**

A few weeks later, I got a phone call from my parents. We were in London, and Blessed Day was up in Manchester for two weeks. It was the end of March and the snow was nearly gone from the ground.

"Hello?" I answered the phone, hoping it wasn't some fans that had gotten ahold of our number.

"Georgie!" my mum's voice echoed through the phone. I grinned. It had been awhile since I'd heard from my parents and I missed them a lot.

"Hi mum, how are ya?" I asked. John made a kissy face at me and I chucked a pillow at him and ignored the curse aimed in my direction.

"Oh, I'm fine. How are you, sweetie? It's been ages since we've seen ya." Her cheerful voice made me wince in guilt. I'd meant to keep in touch more, but we were so busy it was hard. Our new album was insanely popular and there was a massive demand for it.

"Sorry, mum, it's just been a bit bonkers lately," I said. "I'm great though."

"That's so nice to hear," she said. "I was just thinkin' that we 'aven't met yer lovely girl yet. I know yer both busy, but it would be lovely to 'ave ya both over fer dinner some night."

"That sounds gear, mum. I'm sure she'd love to. 'Ow about we call ya when we get done with the gig?" I asked.

"That sounds nice," mum agreed. "Yer dad's at work, or he'd say 'ello."

"I gotta go mum, tell 'im I said hi, okay? I love you, mum," I said. Never again would I take my parents for granted.

"Love you too, Georgie," she blew a kiss into the phone and hung up.

"What'd yer mum say, Geo?" Ringo asked from where he was laying on the couch and tapping the table with a pair of his sticks.

"Looks like Em an' I are doin' a meet-the-parents thing," I said, getting comfortable in the armchair again. "Speakin' of her, I probably better call 'er an' give her a heads up." I pulled the phone off the hook again and dialed Blessed Day's hotel phone number.

"'Ello?" Aaron's deep voice answered.

"Hey, Aaron, it's George," I said.

"I'm sorry, who? I don't know anyone by the name of George- _Oi!_ Get off me, Em!" Noises of struggle and laughter reached my ears. When Emily finally answered, she was breathless from laughter.

"Hi," she said, still giggling. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Hello yourself! What on earth was all that noise?" I chuckled.

"That noise was Aaron being an immature arse," she said with a laugh. "I miss ya, what's the occasion fer the call?"

"I miss you too, luv," I said. "Me mum just called an' my parents want to meet ya." A slight pause on the other end made me pray that she would be okay with it.

"That sounds nice," she said at last. "When?"

"Whenever we get back from tour," I replied. Is that okay with ya?"

" Of course," she said. "If yer parents are anything like ya they'll be great." I smiled with relief.

"Okay, luv. I'll talk to ya tonight. I love you," I said, blowing a kiss into the phone.

"I love you too, Geo," she blew a return kiss. "Bye."

"She took it well, then?" Paul questioned. I nodded, a grin spreading across my face.

When we all got back from tour, we got the dinner date set up. It would be at mum and dad's house and mum would cook. She absolutely insisted on that last bit.

"Babe, are ya ready yet?" I knocked on the bathroom door.

"No!" her voice squeaked. I gently opened the door and saw her locked in mortal combat with her hair. When she saw me, she blocked herself. "I look 'orrible, please George, go away."

I straightened her hair out and tugged the brush from her hands. She was wearing a light blue dress with a white sweater and looked beautiful. " Luv, ya look fine. Mum and dad have already seen photos of ya an' think yer gorgeous. A pink blush touched her cheeks. I kissed her.

"I just want to meet their expectations of me," she murmured.

"Be yerself an' you'll pass with flyin' colors," I told her.

She brightened a bit. "I'm bein' stupid, I guess. Let's go."

Mum met us at the door. "Hello, you two! Oh, George, she's even prettier in person!" I smiled, putting an arm around Emily's waist.

"Thank you, Mrs. Harrison," Emily said, smiling nervously. "Can I 'elp ya in the kitchen?" Mum laughed with delight, hugging Emily.

"I like 'er already!" she declared. "You're so sweet to offer, I don't 'ear that much 'round here." She gave me a mock-pointed look before leading Emily into the kitchen.

"Hi, George," my dad came into the entryway.

" Hey, dad," I said, hugging him. "How've you been?" He patted my back.

"I've been fine, just fine. How are you, son?" he asked.

"Never been better," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. He chuckled, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Young love, eh?" he said. "I think I'll head into the kitchen to meet 'er." I followed at a close distance.

"Is this the beautiful young lady my son is seeing?" he asked, leaning on the doorframe.

"I suppose it is," Emily said, drying her hands off and shaking my dad's hand.

He pretended to consider something. "She's too good for ya, son," he joked, grinning. We all laughed.

Dinner went smoothly. Everyone had something to talk about and there were no awkward moments. We stayed quite late, drinking tea and talking about just about everything.

And then dad asked the fatal question. "Who are yer parents?" he asked. Emily froze imperceptibly.

"My parents are Patrick an' Angela Scott. Me father is a drinker an' me mum passed away last year," she said, her voice dropping several notches.

Mum got up to hug her. "Oh, you poor dear," she said.

Another hour or so passed before we left. "As far as we're concerned, yer family now," mum said, hugging the two of us. We bade goodbyes and left to get in the car.

"So," Emily said. "That's what a normal family is like." I nodded, pulling her to me. "They're so nice," she said.

I leaned down to kiss her lips gently. Until then, I thought it was impossible to love someone with all your heart, mind, and soul. Just goes to show you how much I know.

**A/N: FIN! I dunno, the last part feels rushed to me. **

**Review anyway? :)**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Sooo, it's been awhile, hasn't it? Sorry :( School is crazy and I just have no time to write. Add to the fact that I'm currently writing four other stories along with this one, and you've got a very busy fanfiction writer.**

**And on a sad note, I didn't get any reviews for my last chapter... not one. :( Are people losing interest in this story?**

**Ringo's POV**

Time passed, records sold, girls screamed, cameras flashed. In short, life went on. The Beatles were the hottest thing in England nowadays and we were fast gaining fame in other parts of the world as well. America was still a vast, wide unknown for us. It was August, and Blessed Day had suddenly exploded onto the scene last month with their second album, _Move._ It was fantastic and their fans just couldn't get enough. They were now on the same tour circuit as us. This was nice because we got to spend more time together. It was especially nice for Emily and George. One was rarely seen without the other anymore. They'd sort of become Emily-and-George, a single entity.

The little house in Liverpool had been sold around May. John, Cyn, and Julian had bought a house on the outskirts of London, Paul had moved into Jane's London flat, and Mo and I were leasing a flat in London. George and Emily had just bought a lovely house outside of London, not far from John and Cynthia's house. Unfortunately, there were heavy renovations that needed to be done, rendering the house uninhabitable for a few months.

So, they were staying with us. It was a lot of fun, especially at dinner. Jokes and exchanges of wit bounced across the table merrily more often than not. But there were times when one, two, or all of us had had a particularly harrowing day at work and the table was filled with a sleepy silence and the tired clinking of silverware against china.

"Ritchie?" Mo's head popped around the door to our bedroom where I was sitting on the bed. As always, my heart skipped a beat or two when her sparkling blue eyes met mine. She came over and rested her arms on my shoulders. I leaned my head against her shoulder, breathing in the smell of her fruity perfume.

"Yeah, luv?" I asked, turning to kiss her.

"I 'ave to go to work," she whispered regretfully, tracing her fingers up and down my arms, sending shivers down my spine. I groaned, wrapping my arms around her waist and kissing her again.

"Do ya _'ave _to?" I whined. She laughed, running her hands delicately through my hair.

"Yeah," she sighed, and then combed her fingers through the front of my hair, evidently examining it. "Richard Starkey, when was the last time yer hair was cut?"

It took me a moment to remember that I didn't know. "Um, not sure," I said. She raised an eyebrow and I danced away from her, protecting my hair with my hands. "Don't even think about it!" I warned laughing.

Mo held her hands up in mock-submission. "Alright, you win," she giggled. "Bye, luv. See you later." She blew a kiss in my direction. I pretended to catch it in my hand and sent one in return.

"I love you," I called after her.

"I love you more!" she replied, grinning.

"I love you most!" I said, chuckling at the expression on her face.

**Emily's POV**

I ran a hand through my shaggy hair. It had begun to grow out and I was quickly taking on the appearance of a sheepdog. I tended not to go out as much as I used to as there was the danger of being mobbed and I was also sick of seeing my face on the cover of every magazine. George and I had become pop culture's hottest couple seemingly overnight and it was getting old fast.

But I needed a haircut and I wasn't about to let my fame get in the way of my life.

I put on a light gold sundress and clipped my hair back so it would stay out of my eyes. My makeup was minimal because it would probably melt off my face in the sweltering summer London heat.

"Going somewhere?" A warm, dusky voice that belonged to George touched my ears just as his strong arms wrapped around my waist.

"Good morning to you, too," I laughed, turning so I could kiss his lips gently. "I'm just goin' out fer a bit. Shopping, y'know, _girl stuff_," I teased, touching my nose against his.

"Alright, but be careful, yeah?" he conceded, running his thumbs across my cheeks. "I don't want me girl run over by a bunch of rabid fans." He kissed the top of my head.

"Yes, sah!" I saluted, making George roll his eyes good-naturedly.

"Get outta here," he growled playfully, smacking my bottom as I went out the door.

I flushed a deep red. "George!" I yelped through the now shut door. He had probably shut it in a moment of self-preservation. His deep laughter filtered to my ears. "I love you, you big goofball!" I called, stepping into my shoes.

It was a sweltering day, just as I'd predicted, but a nice breeze made it somewhat tolerable. In lieu of getting a cab, I decided to walk to the salon that Mo worked at.

The salon was a nice, cheerful place. Unlike the one she had worked at in Liverpool, this one had more than one chair and more advanced technology. The walls were papered with patterns of pastel pinks and yellows and the muted light made it feel friendly. Mo was always talking about her fabulous coworkers and being in there now, I could see she was right.

I sat down in one of the waiting chairs, crossed my legs, picked up a magazine, and waited. It didn't take very long for Mo to appear. She was wearing her uniform which included tan slacks, a light blue, ruffled blouse, and a cream colored apron with a name tag. Her blonde hair was pulled half up.

"You could've just asked me to cut yer 'air at home, y'know," she scolded me for walking here in the heat while taking me back to the mirrors.

"I needed to go out," I explained, sitting down in one of the big, swiveling chairs. "I was getting the worst case of cabin fever known to man."

Mo nodded in understanding. "I bet. Ya didn't 'appen to see all of the new fan mags today, did ya?" I shook my head, feeling Mo's sensitive fingers comb through my hair. I tried to go out of my way to avoid such things. I had gotten pretty good at it, too. "Good, yer all over them, again."

I groaned. "I 'aven't been out in ages! How did they possibly get more photographs?"

"These are all old ones," Mo replied. "They're wonderin' where you are. Mad speculations are goin' up, too."

"Where I am is my business, not all of England's," I muttered, leaning my head back into the sink. Mo began to wash my hair and I thought about the day that Maggie had come up with an idea for a song that had become our album's title track. That had been an eventful string of days.

_Flashback:_

_ Nothing much was going on in the studio. I was restringing my guitar, Fergus was taking a nap against the cymbal on his drum set, and everyone else was staring blankly into space. _

_ Everyone, that is, except for Maggie. She was sitting up against the wall in the corner of the studio and scribbling madly on a sheet of paper._

_ "Mags, I think I see smoke comin' from yer pencil," said Lucy, who was doodling absentmindedly on her notebook. "Whatcha writin'?" _

_ Maggie looked up. "Well, I think it's a song," she said. "The melody sorta goes like this—" she hummed a syncopated rhythm that was unlike anything we'd ever tried in a song before._

_ "I like it!" Sarah exclaimed, her eyes immediately losing their tired, glazed-over look. They were quickly gaining the sparkling, somewhat insane look that we'd dubbed "The Sarah Look." "What else have ya got so far?" Maggie shrugged, pushing her hair out of her face. _

_ "I don't really know. I need a drum pattern first," she said, glancing over to the obnoxiously snoring Fergus. _

_ Sarah grinned. She silently counted to three and then yelled, "OI! Fergus!" The Irish drummer leapt about a mile in the air, banging into his cymbal and sending it crashing to the floor. It slowly rattled to a stop in ringing silence before laughter filled the quiet._

_ "Glad you all found that so highly amusin'," Fergus grumbled to himself, righting the cymbal. "Could've died of fright, I could've, an' would ye be laughin' then?" Chuckles were somewhat stifled. "So what did ye want?" he asked, a red tinge still coloring his cheeks._

_ "A drum pattern for this melody," said Maggie, singing the melody again. He tapped around for a few minutes, experimenting, before coming up with a solid, yet unobtrusive drum pattern._

_ We spent the rest of the day working on that song. The lyrics weren't coming, though. It was nearly midnight and we were all falling asleep._

_ "Sarah, could we please just come in tomorrow an' finish this?" begged Aaron, who was yawning every thirty seconds, on the dot. Fergus had been counting. _

_ "Yeah, I suppose so—" she began, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion, but Lucy suddenly shot straight up, medium length black curls flying in every imagined direction._

_ "Wait, I've got it!" she cried, diving over Sarah's amp to get her notebook. I watched in fascination as her hand flew over the page like it was possessed. Within minutes, a rough draft of the lyrics was scribbled down. _

_ "There!" she said triumphantly, setting her pencil down. We went home that night feeling extremely accomplished and came in the next morning to finish it. _

_End flashback._

"Now, what kind of cut do ya want?" Mo asked, toweling my hair off. I hadn't had a proper haircut since the car accident.

"Hmm," I mused, looking at myself in the mirror. "I dunno, Mo. You do something that works with my face shape." She stared at my hair for a long time, holding it up this was and that before pinning it the way shed need to appropriately cut it.

Slowly, I watched my hair take the shape of a medium length bob with bangs. I loved the way it looked, which was a bit more than a little vain on my part.

"Mo, yer a genius!" I exclaimed as she finished drying my hair. She laughed.

"Ta," she replied, spritzing some scented, unidentified substance in my hair with a final flourish. "Beautiful," she decided.

I reached into my purse for my wallet, but she smacked my hand away. "But Mo, I've got to pay ya!" I protested. "It's not right if I don't!" She shushed me.

"Think of it as a small favor fer you introducin' me to the love of my life," she said, hugging me. I grinned widely and hugged her back. Mo and Ringo were perfect for one another. Never before had I seen two people so utterly, head over heels in love.

"Fair enough," I laughed. "I gotta get goin', Mo. See ya later." I waved and stepped into the waiting area. I was mere steps out the door when someone tapped my arm.

I mentally groaned and turned around. "Pardon me for being so blunt," a soft, American voice caught my ear. "But aren't you Emily Scott?" A young man, about my age, stood before me. He had average length white-blonde hair and warm, silver eyes.

"Yes, why?" I asked, instantly on my guard.

"I'm a reporter from a London magazine and I was wondering if you and Mr. Harrison would consent to a photo shoot of sorts and an interview?" My interest level was about even with the soles of my shoes by the time the question left his lips. George and I had alternately turned down more interview offers than we would care to remember.

Then, however, an idea popped into my head. Maybe if we did one interview, just one, people would stop badgering us. If George would agree, that is. "I'm on my way home now, if you give me yer business card, I'll call ya when we've decided," I told him. The man dug a card out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to me.

"Goodbye," Ms. Scott," he said, shaking my hand firmly and striding away. I looked at the pristine, white card in my hand. In plain, bold, black print the card stated:

**Maxwell Silver: Journalist**

**246-8102**

I slid it into my purse and continued my walk home. It was still extremely hot out and by the time I got back to the flat there was a trickle of sweat running down my back.

Ringo answered the door. "Hey, Em," he greeted me, hugging me. "Nice 'air cut! Mo sure knows 'er stuff," he said proudly. I giggled and kissed his cheek.

"Thanks, Rings," I said, kicking my shoes off. "She sure does." I looked around for George and found that he was nowhere to be seen. "Where's George?" I asked. "We were going to make lunch together."

"He was goin' to get some groceries, we were out of most of everything," Ringo responded. My brow creased in worry and he caught it, because he added, "Don't worry. He wore a disguise. My only worry is that we'll 'ave to go pick 'im up from the jail. I can't _believe_ he thought wearing that heavy beard and hat was a good idea!" The exasperation in Ringo's voice made me start to laugh.

About twenty minutes later, George came bursting through the door with an armload of groceries and a peevish expression. I pulled a few bags out of his arms and put them in the kitchen.

"George?" I asked as soon as we were both in the kitchen. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes," he growled, pulling a handful of the rubbish magazines out of one of the bags. I gasped at the covers. _George and Emily went to America to get Married!, George and Emily have been Abducted!, _and this lovely little zinger, _George and Emily: Hiding out in Iceland!_

I let out a yowl of frustration. "Is this the level they've sunk to? Most of these don't even make any sense!" I cried, flinging my hands in the air with exasperation.

"I know," George sighed. "Jesus, this is a right little mess we've gotten ourselves into, isn't it"? He muttered, raking a hand through his hair and making it stand on end. I smoothed it down for him.

Then I remembered the card in my purse. "George, I think I 'ave an idea!" I exclaimed, digging around in my purse for the little slip of white paper. "When I went to get a haircut, I bumped into a reporter from a magazine. 'E offered to do a photo shoot and an interview with us."

George's face was pensive. "First things first, yer hair looks wonderful, luv," he said, running his fingers through it. "Second, you know I hate doin' interviews—" My face fell. Maybe my plan wasn't as good as I'd thought it to be. He caught my crestfallen look. "Hold yer horses, I didn't finish me sentence yet! As I was saying, I hate interviews, but I think it might be a good way to put all these batty theories to rest."

I smiled. "Let's get this ball rollin' then!" I picked up the phone and dialed the number on the card.

"Hello, Maxwell speaking," the man's voice picked up.

"Hi Mr. Silver, this is Emily Scott callin'," I said.

"Oh! Have you made up your minds about the interview, then?" he asked.

"Yes, we 'ave," I said. "You name the date, time, an' place and we'll be there." George nodded in affirmation, putting an arm around my waist.

"That's wonderful!" Maxwell exclaimed. "Let me see, I've got to check my schedule—" a rustling of paper could be heard, "... Would next Tuesday at noon work?" I covered the mouthpiece of the phone and relayed the question to George.

"That's just fine," he said.

"That works," I told Maxwell.

"Lovely!" he exclaimed. He proceeded to give me instructions to the studio and then hung up. I really hoped this would work out.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It was a hectic week leading up to the interview. Blessed Day got caught in our first real fan mob. It was a truly horrifying experience and was one that none of us were eager to repeat. My favorite purple dress got a tear in the shoulder, Fergus got knocked over like a bowling pin, Maggie got her hair brutally yanked, Sarah lost her best scarf, Aaron nearly had his arm pulled out of the socket, and Lucy's shoe was snatched straight off her foot. Needless to say, we were not a happy crowd when we finally made it to the studio.

"Rings, can we borrow yer car?" George called back into the bedroom that Ringo and Mo shared. No answer. George sighed and opened the door. A mortified shriek pierced the air and George did an abrupt about-face, his cheeks a flaming shade of crimson.

"What?" I asked. He shook his head weakly, looking like he wanted to gouge his eyes out.

"Um," he mumbled, blinking rapidly. I caught on instantly and was suddenly very glad that I hadn't been the one to open the door.

Mo's pink face peeped around the door cautiously. Her hair was rumpled. "Yeah?" she asked, combing her hair down frantically.

"Can we use Ringo's car?" I asked. She poked her head back into the bedroom and repeated the inquiry to Ringo. A moment passed, and she came back.

"Go ahead," she said.

"Sorry, Mo," I apologized, feeling extremely awkward.

"It's okay," she said, turning red all over again.

The drive was surprisingly short, even in the pokey London traffic. The building was a white, nondescript place, which was strange. Media buildings were usually flashy and gaudy. I took it to mean that they didn't have an exceptionally large amount of money.

Upon entering the studio, I decided that I liked the interior much better. There were brightly colored carpets and intricate, antique looking lighting fixtures.

We must have looked a bit lost, because a woman with long, curly brown hair came up to us and said, "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yes," said George, twining his fingers with mine. "We're 'ere to do an interview with Mr. Maxwell Silver." The woman nodded, glancing down at the clipboard in her hands.

"Oh, yes," she said. "Mr. Harrison and Ms. Scott?" We gave a nod of recognition. "Yes, you're in Studio 221. Follow me, please."

She led us down hallway after hallway of doors with some manner of identification on them that they all started to look the same. After a time, we came to a stop in front of a door labeled; _Studio 221_ in gold lettering.

The woman tapped on the door and opened it. "Mr. Silver? Your interviewees are here!" she called.

Maxwell came bounding around the doorway, his blonde hair flying in every direction and a big smile on his face. "Hello, you two!" he exclaimed, shaking George's hand happily. "It's nice to meet you."

George smiled tightly. I could tell that this was making him extremely nervous. "It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Silver," he said. Maxwell flapped his hands theatrically.

"Oh please, call me Max," he pleaded. "Mr. Silver just sounds so _stuffy,_ doesn't it?"

He turned to me next and kissed the back of my hand. "Ms. Scott, you look just as lovely as you did a week ago," he said. I could feel George ever so slightly tighten his grip on my waist.

"Thank you," I said. "What shall we do first?"

"Always business first, I like that," he said firmly, leading us over to an array of different backgrounds. "I think we'll do the pictures first. I _was _going to have all of these outfits for you to pick from, but the two of you look fabulous as is."

George gave me a barely perceptible, _I can't believe we're doing this,_ look and I squeezed his hand gently.

The photo shoot went well. The first picture taken was of us sitting on a park bench with me in George's lap and his arms around my waist. I was wearing a deep red sundress with a satin hem around the bottom and no sleeves and George was wearing a shirt of the same shade and black pants. We'd unconsciously matched our outfits somehow. The next one was taken from above us as we lay on a picnic blanket with our arms entwined. Max had requested that we be looking at each other so that our noses were just barely touching. The third one was of George holding me bridal style with my arms flung out to the sides. A fan was blowing in our faces so that our hair was blowing away and we were standing in front of a tree with wildflowers at our feet. The final picture was just a closeup of our two faces kissing passionately. Max wasn't satisfied with the first three shots and as a result we were forced to hold the kiss for a ridiculously long amount of time. Keeping self-control at that point was a bit more than a little difficult.

"I do believe I've said this more than once, but the two of you make a lovely couple," Max had said at one point.

When the photos were done, we sat down in a pair of comfortable chairs and began the interview. "I know you're probably sick to death of this question, but how did the two of you meet?" Max asked, making himself comfortable in a chair opposite us.

"Ringo saved my life, and brought me into the studio the next morning to meet the boys," I said, crossing my legs and hoping that I wouldn't end up spilling about the affair with John.

"Really," said Max, obviously intrigued. "From who or what?"

"One of those Teddy Boys that hang around the docks of Liverpool," I replied. "I'm extremely lucky 'e arrived when he did, I was close to being a goner." Max's silver eyes widened like twin pools of mercury.

"Goodness, that must have been an ordeal," he said. "What was your first impression of George?"

I laughed and squeezed George's hand. "That he was very sweet, but very quiet. To be honest, he didn't say much at first."

George chuckled. "That's true," he said. "I'm not a very chatty bloke, more often than not."

"Sometimes that can be a good thing, you know," Max said. "It makes you all that much more intriguing, yes? And George, what was your first impression of Emily?"  
George smiled. "That she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen," he said. Max grinned.

"Oh, that's so wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Now, you're both in very famous bands, what is that like?"

I motioned that George should speak first. "Oh," he said. "It's a lot of fun most of the time, but like all things, it can get a bit bonkers." I nodded in agreement.

"Oh, definitely," I agreed. "And it's all a bit surreal for me, y'know? One minute I'm just another girl walkin' down the street and suddenly everybody knows me name. But the music's good an' I love my band members. They're like me extended family."

"That must be a lot of fun," Max said. "Does touring get in the way of your relationship at all?" he asked.

I pondered the question for a bit. "For awhile it did, but we're on the same tour circuits now and it's a little bit easier to be together."

"At first we were hardly together once a week, and that was just murder," George added.

"I would imagine," said Max. "What are your relationships like with your other band members, and the members of the other band?"

"Well, Sarah Lennon is like me older sister, she's just the best for advice. Maggie Jones is the person I can giggle with for hours on end, an' in fact we 'ave. Lucy Welsh is the only person in the world that can convince me to do the totally mad things that we do. Fergus McGinty is like a really loveable, yet incredibly irritating younger brother, even if he _is _younger than me. And Aaron Michaelson is my rock in hard times and is like another older brother for me. The Beatle boys are like three more brothers than I would ever need or want, but love just the same. But of course one is the love of my life," I finished, tracing a circle on George's hand with my thumb.

George had started to laugh when I mentioned the bit about Fergus. "Well, Ringo is the best friend that I could ever ask for. 'E's a total goofball, but the best listener you could ever ask for. John, even though he takes the mick out of me most days, is like an older brother. So's Paul, but he's a bit lighter on the jokin' aspect. An' the members of Blessed Day really are like me extended family."

The interview was soon over after that. I felt as though it had gone pretty well. We had to hurry over to a theater because the Beatles had a earlier day gig there and we arrived just on time.

"About time!" said John, tuning his guitar. "We though you weren't gonna make it, Georgie boy," George whacked John's shoulder, tuning up his guitar.

"Well, I'm 'ere now, aren't I?" he asked, grinning. "Are we gonna go make some music or what?"

Per the usual, the show was amazing. Or at least the part I could actually hear of it was amazing. The girls were shrieking so loudly that I could hardly make out any of the music. After the show, a man came up to John and shook his hand.

"Hey, Eric, what'd you think of it?" he asked the man whose name was apparently Eric.

"You guys sounded pretty good, I gotta say," he said.

John turned to everyone in the room. "Everyone, this is Eric Clapton. He's a nice guy and a damn good guitarist."

I laughed as Eric shook my hand. "Well, that's enough credentials for anyone 'ere, nice to meet ya." We started chatting about guitars and various music artists. He was a nice guy, a bit awkward at times, but nice. About a half an hour after meeting Eric, I saw George striding in our direction with an irritated gleam in his eye.

**A/N: Whew! Long chapter! **

**Yes, this is where things start to get a bit... shall we say... complicated. And Maxwell Silver? This won't be the last you hear of him, keep your eyes peeled!**

**Review? :)**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Urrggghhh, my updating skills are horrid, aren't they? **

**Anyhoo, enjoy!**

**George's POV**

Throughout the backstage gathering, I noticed an unusual lack of a wonderful, redheaded girl at my side. That was strange, where was Emily anyway? It took about two sweeps of the room for me to see that she was chatting with Eric, who was absolutely smitten by the way he was staring at her intensely. And she was doing nothing to stop his advances, either. Now this just wouldn't do.

I strode over to her and tapped her shoulder. "Emily, could I speak to ya, please?" I asked, attempting to keep a light and airy tone.

She could see that something was wrong and a tiny frown creased her forehead. "Sure, George," she said.

"Now would be lovely," I said, taking her hand and marching her out into the hallway. She was not amused.

"What, George?" she asked tightly. "That was so rude, poor Eric had no idea what was goin' on!"

"I think he knew exactly what he was doin'," I growled, all pleasant tones gone from my voice. "An' so did you."

It took her exactly one second to catch on. "George! I was not flirtin' and neither was Eric! Is it a crime for a man and a woman who aren't romantically involved to pass the time?" Her hands were firmly on her hips.

"Could've fooled me or anyone else in the room," I said, feeling my cheeks heat up in anger.

She gave me an incredulous look coupled with a frown. "What has been _wrong_ with you for the past few weeks? First I was talkin' up the sound technician, then I was getting cosy with Mr. Silver, an' now Eric? Where on Earth is all of this possessiveness coming from?"

"I don't call gettin' a little bothered that me girl is chatting up every boy she sees possessive, Em," I said, getting a bit irritated.

Emily was a bit past irritated. "There is a rather large difference between talking an' flirting, Mr. Harrison," she said, icicles dripping from her words.

"You apparently 'aven't figured out what it is," I retorted.

"George Harrison, last I checked you were not runnin' my life," she said, her voice rising.

"Maybe I should be," I said coolly. "Yer doin' a pretty bloody poor job of it." As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted them, but it was too late. Her face was immediately wiped of all emotion, a sign that she was pissed off with a capital P.

"Well, pardon me to blue blazes," she said in a soft voice that burned with anger and hurt. "I 'ad no idea that it was fine for a bloke to chat up as many women as humanly possible, but a woman in a relationship is confined to speaking to only one man. Excuse me," she brushed past me, leaving a gaping hole in the air.

**Emily's POV**

Flirting? _Flirting?_ How on Earth could a discussion about proper care of one's guitar strings be considered flirting? I could certainly point out a few times that George had been getting rather friendly with ladies that were most certainly not me. I could feel the blood heating my cheeks as I went through the room.

"Are you okay, luv?" Fergus caught my arm. "You look a little peevish."

I screwed a smile on my face. "Oh, I'm just swell, how are you? I've just been informed by my boyfriend that I may not speak to any men he doesn't approve of. Isn't that just peachy?" I gently pulled my arm out of his hand.

Lucy was picking up her bag, and it looked like she was about to leave. "'Ey, Luce?" I asked.

She turned to see me. "Hey, Em. What's up?"

"Could I crash at yer place tonight?" I asked tentatively, my heart still all in a tizzy after my recent argument.

She took one look at my flushed face and quivering lip and nodded kindly. "Sure, kid. C'mon," she said, grasping my wrist.

Once in her car, Lucy turned off the radio. "What 'appened? I sort of 'eard raised voices."

I shook my head, brushing my bangs out of my eyes. "George was convinced I was gettin' a tad too friendly with Eric Clapton, an' somehow that spiraled into me flirting with any guy who moves, an' a bunch of other things 'appened too." Tears beaded in my eyes. It was our first real fight, which was surprising.

"Oh, hon," Lucy said sympathetically. "Unfortunately, this happens in every relationship. The bloke gets possessive bordering on obsessive an' the girl gets miffed. Happened to me an' Fergus when we were goin' together."

I was shocked. I hadn't known that Lucy and Fergus had dated. "You two went out?" I asked. She nodded.

"We were a bit too hotheaded for each other," she chuckled.

I thought of the many times both of them had nearly lost their heads and nodded in agreement. Lucy's flat was definitely designed to fit her personality. The walls were a deep plum color and the drapes were a slightly lighter shade of that color with gold tassels and trim. Her furniture was of the modern and cutting edge variety, with lots of angles and dark wood with glass panels. Picture frames adorned the mantelpiece and little knickknacks were scattered neatly. The room simply screamed Lucy.

"I can pull out the sofa an' lend ya a nightgown," Lucy offered. I helped her pull the bed out of the sofa and she trotted off to her bedroom to grab a nightgown for me to use.

Needless to say, sleep did not come easily or well that night. Several tears traced their way down my cheeks at various times of the night.

**George's POV**

I wanted so badly to run after Emily, pull her into my arms and tell her I was so very sorry a million times over. But my pride got in the way and by the time I started to come to my senses, she'd already gone with Lucy. Just my bloody luck.

I slid down against the wall and dropped my head into my hands. I just loved her so much and to see any other man interested in her made any rational thoughts blow straight out of my head like dandelion fluff in the breeze. And I guess it wasn't fair of me to talk like that when there were women begging for my attention and I did occasionally reciprocate, but... I sighed loudly, massaging my temples. What was I gonna do?

A few minutes later, Ringo and Mo came out, arms wrapped around each other. Ringo looked down to see me sitting on the floor. "Georgie, you okay?" he asked, bending down to look me in the eye. "I saw Em runnin' outta here in a hurry. What 'appened?"

I sighed and stood up, rumpling the front of my hair. "We 'ad a bloody stupid fight and it was all my fuckin' fault," I groaned.

"I saw 'er go with Lucy, call 'er in the morning, everything'll look better then," Mo advised, putting her arm around my shoulders gently. "Let's go back to the flat." I allowed myself to be led out to my car, put in the backseat, and driven home. Part of me was ashamed that I was so broken up about one little fight, but it was outweighed by the fact that my heart felt like there was a piece missing in a big, jagged shard.

If I said I slept well, it would be an out and out lie. I tossed and turned all night.

The next morning, I lay in bed, feeling the strange, cold, emptiness of the other side of the bed. I put my face into Emily's pillow, inhaling the faint scent of her flowery perfume.

Rolling out of bed, I made my way over to the phone and dialed Lucy's number. She picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hi, Lucy, it's George," I said tentatively. "Is Emily there?" An extended pause followed, a muffled conversation crackling in the background.

"She's still sleeping, sorry George," she said, and I knew she was lying. "Call later, okay?"

"Alright, bye," I said dejectedly, hanging up.

"Well?" Ringo came into the room and sat down in the chair opposite me.

I sighed. "She's 'sleeping'." Ringo patted my shoulder.

"You'll work it out, mate," he said comfortingly. "She loves you an' you love her. It might take a bit, but it'll be fine in the end. You'll see." His voice was confident. I wanted so badly to believe him, but an overpowering voice kept echoing through my head. _This is the end. Hope you enjoyed it while it lasted. _

I finished half a cup of coffee, shuffled back to my room, and collapsed into the cold, empty bed. I didn't sleep, though. I just stared blankly at the ceiling, allowing my mind to replay strings of memories of Emily like endless reels of home movies. Going to the carnival in weird disguises, going for long walks in the woods, splashing around at the beach, listening to an up-and-coming band at whatever club would be handy, her smiling at something I'd said, kissing those smooth, warm, sweet lips, the loop just kept repeating. It was maddening, thinking about the girl I loved and not being able to kiss or touch her.

I _had _to get her back. But how would I be able to do that? Suddenly, an idea came to me. If this didn't work, I didn't know what would. Lucy's block was fairly unoccupied and they were by now accustomed to seeing famous people popping in and out. Yes. I could do this.

**Emily's POV**

"Ugh, Luce," I moaned, feeling the tears well up for the umpteenth time that morning. "The whole damn thing was my fault. I shouldn't 'ave been so defensive. I should've just calmly explained and apologized."

"Lucy shook her head vehemently. "Are you kiddin'? All you were doin' was talking to Eric."

I buried my face in my hands. "But I blew up at 'im over nothin'!" I mumbled, feeling a rather large headache starting to pound at the back of my skull. "I'm gonna go lie down for a bit," I said, walking over to the still pulled-out couch and laying down, hugging a pillow to my chest.

My bag lay on the table and I stretched out to dig around in it, pulling out my wallet. I opened it, staring at the many pictures of George that dwelled there. My personal favorite was the one I'd caught of of him sleeping. His hair was fanned out around his face and he looked utterly relaxed. The picture immediately following that one was of George pouncing on me when he'd discovered the camera in my hand. A single tear dropped onto the plastic covering the picture.

"I'm sorry, Georgie," I whispered, and then it dawned on me. He had most likely gone back to Mo and Ringo's, which wasn't all that far from here. I could make it in under half an hour. Maybe there was hope.

"Lucy?" I called, pulling a brush through my hair and running around in search of my shoes. "I'm goin' out, okay?"

She poked her head around the door frame, her hair tumbling into her face, cheeks pink from standing over the stove. "Okay, but why?" she asked, but I was already dashing out the door.

"Bye, Luce!" I called, letting the door swing shut behind me.

**George's POV**

"George, what are ya doin'?" Ringo asked, brow crinkled in confusion as I dashed through the flat, hat in one hand and guitar case in the other.

"Just goin' out, don't worry!" I shouted over my shoulder. Usually, the guitar case felt heavy in my hand. Not now, it felt like nothing as I speed walked through the streets of London. Running, which is what I longed to do, would look suspicious.

The hot, sticky summer London air made sweat pour down my neck and back in just minutes, sticking my hair together in clumps and making big wet spots on my shirt. Suddenly, I was grateful that I'd had the foresight to wear a light colored shirt. It was a short sleeved button down that Emily often borrowed when we didn't have to go anywhere. She claimed that it was far more comfortable than any shirts she owned.

"Sorry," I called after a disgruntled couple that I'd just run into. They stared after me curiously, like they'd seen me somewhere. They probably had, there was hardly a person in England who hadn't these days.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, I was stopped in front of Lucy's flat, wiping the sweat out of my eyes and ringing the doorbell frantically.

"Hello—" Lucy opened the door to see me. "Oh 'ello, George," she said stiffly. I could tell that she was less than pleased to see me.

"Hi Lucy," I said. "Is Emily 'ere?" She looked me up and down, taking in the guitar case clutched in my hand and the sweat in a thin sheen all over my body. Her eyes seemed to soften just a hair.

"No, sorry," she said truthfully. "She just left. I think she was gonna go see you."

I clapped a hand to my forehead and groaned. "Thanks, Lucy. See ya later."

**Emily's POV**

I pushed my bangs off my forehead, wiping the sweat away from my eyes. _Just a few more steps,_ I thought, seeing the door to Ringo and Mo's flat.

Knocking, I waited, hoping that George would choose to answer. Instead, it was Mo. "Hey, Emily!" she exclaimed, hugging me.

"Is George 'ere?" I asked, peering around her shoulder as if I might see him come running around the corner.

She looked at me sadly. "He just left, shoutin' some nonsense about goin' out. I think 'e was headin' to Lucy's."

My shoulders slumped. "I just came from there!" I exclaimed. "Thanks Mo." I gave her a quick hug goodbye and trotted back down the stairs, my pace much slower than it had been going in the opposite direction.

Halfway there in the middle of a little park, I lost all ambition. Maybe he wasn't really going back to Lucy's and was still mad at me. Feeling dizzy with heat and sadness, I fell onto a bench and dropped my face into my hands, letting tears pour from my eyes. People might've been stopping and staring, but I didn't care in the slightest. It was impossible not to cry at the sensation of your heart being broken into jagged, little pieces.

**George's POV**

About halfway back, I started to lose hope. What if she was still mad at me? I mean, if I was her I'd still be pretty damn pissed off. Then, a petite, crumpled figure caught my attention. And she had shortish, red hair. It was Emily for sure, and she was crying.

But to me, she had never looked more beautiful. I gently pulled my guitar out of its case and began to sing the first song I had ever sung to her.

_You'll never know how much I really love you._

_You'll never know how much I really care._

At the very first verse, Emily's head lifted slightly, revealing the tears leaking from her eyes. Her bleary eyes focused on me and she looked like she thought she was dreaming.

_Listen,_

_Do you want to know a secret?,_

_Do you promise not to tell?, whoa oh, oh._

_Closer,_

_Let me whisper in your ear,_

_Say the words you long to hear,_

_I'm in love with you._

Tears were coming down again, but they looked more like happy tears than anything. A wobbly smile was fighting hard for space on her lips. I saw her mouth my name questioningly.

_Listen,_

_Do you want to know a secret?,_

_Do you promise not to tell?, whoa oh, oh._

_Closer,_

_Let me whisper in your ear,_

_Say the words you long to hear,_

_I'm in love with you._

_I've known the secret for a week or two,_

_Nobody knows, just we two._

_Listen,_

_Do you want to know a secret?,_

_Do you promise not to tell?, whoa oh, oh._

_Closer,_

_Let me whisper in your ear,_

_Say the words you long to hear,_

_I'm in love with you._

By the time the song was over she was standing unsteadily on her feet, a trembly smile on her face, and she was walking toward me as though moving in a dream. I set my guitar aside and put my hands on her slim waist to draw her to me when she was close enough.

Once our bodies were flush against each other, I took her face in my hands and delicately wiped the tears from her eyes. Her cheeks were a faint, splotchy shade of pink and her eyes were just a tad puffy and wet. "I'm sorry," I whispered, hugging her tightly, but gently all the same as if she were made of glass and might break in my arms. Her voice, just barely above a breath, said the same words.

For a long time, we simply stood there in a crushing embrace, paying no mind to the people who occasionally stopped and stared. "Em?" I murmured into her hair some time later.

"Hmm?" she mumbled into my chest, tickling my skin with her breath. I leaned my cheek into her soft, red hair.

"I know it's kinda inappropriate to ask yer girl on a date just like that after a fight, but—" I took a deep breath and pulled away from Emily so that I could see directly into her vivid green eyes. "_Will_ you go on a date with me tonight? Just like that?"

She started to giggle a little, brushing her fingers delicately across my cheek. Then a real laugh began to bubble up fro her chest and she threw her arms around my neck in a hug, whispering, "Yes," in my ear.

We spent the rest of the day getting ready. Our final plan was to head to the carnival nearest to London, to a secluded section of the beach for a picnic dinner, and finally to a hotel room that took _forever_ to book. We came to realize that it's quite useful to oh-so-casually mention what your name is to the clerk. They tend to listen to you a bit more closely.

"... Yes, thank you very much!" I said, hanging up the phone with the hotel manager. We were back at Ringo and Mo's flat. Both of them had been thrilled that we'd resolved our fight. "Well, that's the hotel room booked," I said, pulling Emily flush against me and kissing her forehead. Since it would only be one night, we tossed some essentials into one suitcase and requisitioned the use of Ringo's car. I could definitely afford to buy a new one after my old one had been wrecked, but I just did not have _time. _

Disguises for both of us were necessary now, so I put on a hat, sunglasses, and a lightweight beard. I thought I looked like an idiot, and Emily's laughing fit when she saw my beard didn't exactly boost my confidence much. Although, I did get my chance to chuckle at her fancy black wig and fluffy dress that made her look like a porcelain doll.

"If you'll just step this way, little miss," I teased in an old, scratchy voice, sticking my arm out awkwardly.

"Why thank you, sir!" she giggled in a high-pitched voice, reaching up to kiss my cheek. As soon as her lips touched my face, she leapt back with a shout of laughter, scrubbing at her lips.

"Yer beard tickles!" she laughed, leaning on my arm.

"Does that mean I don't get any more kisses?" I asked, pouting slightly.

"Maybe later," she joked, getting into the car. I had found that I'd become a much more attentive driver ever since the crash that had so very nearly ended everything I held dear to me. I couldn't afford to do anything like that again. Sometimes, I still woke up in a cold sweat with the images of the crash tearing through my brain with all the grace of a stampeding elephant. I never told Emily that it was what had woken me because I didn't want her to think I still felt guilty about it.

Soon, we were pulling into the parking lot at the carnival. Surprisingly, there weren't many people there which I suppose was a good thing. Fingers entwined and disguises in place, we walked in, paid our fare, and looked for something to do.

In the end, we decided to go on the Ferris Wheel first. It was a nice way to start the date with a soft, salty sea breeze caressing our skin. I snuck a look at Emily, who was looking out across the sparkling water with a faraway expression. At that moment, she looked like a painting. Her black wig didn't exactly look natural, but it was close enough. Her snow white, graceful neck was curved at just the right angle to catch dramatic shadows. The late afternoon sun created smooth contour lines under her cheekbones and at her temples. If I didn't know any better, she might've been an angel that had just sat down next to me.

She nestled her head onto my shoulder. "I'm glad we decided to do this," she said, running her fingers through my hair.

"Me too," I murmured, curling an arm around her shoulders. We sat like that until the ride ended and we got off. Emily was deathly scared of roller coasters, so that was off the list, at least for now.

"Aye, there's a lovely couple!" one of the game workers called. "Care to try yer luck, sir? Win a pretty trinket for yer girl?"

"Sure," I said confidently, striding over to the booth. I paid for two rounds, thinking it'd be all I needed to get the pins over.

First toss, I hit all of the pins over except one. For the second toss I felt pretty sure of myself... and I totally missed.

"Too bad, lad," said the worker, flicking the ashes of his cigarette into the tray next to the cash register.

"One more throw," I said, handing him enough money for one more ball. Emily softly squeezed my fingers and I stared the pin down like it had done me personal injury by refusing to fall the first time.

My arm went back, the ball flew from my fingers, and the pin went over. We earned ourselves a strange look from the male employees and cooing adoration from the female employees when I picked Emily up and spun her around. I pointed to a tiny, brown teddy bear with a red ribbon around his neck.

"It's adorable!" Emily exclaimed happily, tucking it under her arm and pecking my lips.

We spent another few hours at the carnival, playing a few more games and going on the Ferris Wheel a few more times. I finally convinced Emily to go on the tamest roller coaster they had once and even though it hardly went up and down she practically cut off the circulation in my arm and kept her eyes squinched shut the entire time.

When the ride came to a stop, Emily remained in her scared-to-death position. "Em?" I poked her arm gently. "The ride stopped." She slowly opened her eyes. Realizing that she was still clutching my arm, she gasped and pulled away.

"Oh gosh, Geo, I'm so sorry!" she said, rubbing my arm.

I flexed my fingers tentatively, examining for signs of damage. "S'okay," I said jokingly. "I didn't need that arm anyway."

The sun was just beginning to set when we began our journey to the beach. It was a place that I'd gone several times with my family on summer holidays. Secluded, clean, and beautiful, it was the perfect place for a quiet date.

I stopped a ways back so the beach wasn't quite visible yet and got out of the car quickly. "Stay 'ere a minute, luv, I'll be right back." I said, kissing Emily's cheek. She was a bit preoccupied with getting the pins out of her hair and nodded distractedly at me.

Snatching the picnic basket from the backseat, I dashed over to the beach and threw a few things together. I spread a red and white checkered blanket on the ground, lit a few candles which I set on the wicker basket, and poured two glasses of red wine.

"Okay luv, close yer eyes," I said helping Emily out of the car and putting my hands over her eyes.

"Why?" she asked, carefully walking forward.

"You'll see," I replied vaguely. "Careful, now!" There was a large ditch in the ground and I simply picked her up and carried her to the other side, causing a squeak of surprise to come from her. Once we were on the beach, I stopped her and said, "Okay... open!"

Her mouth fell into a perfect 'o' of surprise as she took in the picnic setting, the golden sand, the vivid, vibrant sunset that looked like it had been painted by a professional, and the ocean that had taken on a distorted mirror image of the sky and added some glittering reflections of the sun that sparkled like a gigantic hand had carelessly tossed a handful of diamonds onto it. "George," Emily whispered. "It's beautiful!" She flung her arms around my neck and pressed a kiss to my mouth.

"Hm, it's alright," I mumbled into her lips. "But it still doesn't 'old a candle to you." The romantic mood was slightly interrupted when my stomach rumbled hungrily as though reminding me it was still there and still hungry, thank you very much.

"Hungry?" Emily asked, leaning her head against my chest.

"Just a bit," I replied leading her over to the blanket. We had salad and baked chicken, and for dessert there was some vanilla cake. I'd picked up the meal on our way to the carnival and they'd taken the initiative to pack it into a basket for us.

"I can't believe the cheeky stuff you blokes say at yer press conferences," Emily laughed, taking a sip of her wine. "I mean, we're a bit cheeky, but we're bloody tame compared to you lot."

I chuckled, tracing my thumb across her fingers. "It's the only way we can stay sane during them," I said. "They ask the most idiotic questions. _'Are you bald?' Can you actually sing?' _No, we're all bald, toothless old men who 'ire a bunch of random blokes to sing for them." I rolled my eyes. "Say, you came pretty close to an American number one last week, didn't ya?" I asked, sipping my wine.

Emily nodded. "Move was number three, but some American fella, might've been Bob Dylan now that I think about it, bumped us out."

"It'll 'appen," I said confidently. "If we go to America, yer comin' too."

"Thanks, Geo," she said, leaning across to kiss my cheek. Suddenly, she kicked her shoes off. "I 'ave a sudden desire to dip my toes in the water," she said. The sun had since gone down, making the sand look pure white and the water looked like a piece of midnight blue velvet.

"It's gonna be cooollddd," I whined with a smirk, curling my toes at the very thought, but I pulled off my shoes and socks anyway.

Hand in hand, we wandered up and down the beach and were mostly quiet. A slight spray of water against my leg made me look down. Emily smiled up at me and kissed me quickly. Seconds later, the same thing happened, but this time I caught her mid-splash.

"Oh, you are so in for it, luv," I said, kicking up an arc of water that splashed across her dress. She gasped in mock-horror and aimed a spray back at me that caught me in the face. I spluttered for a moment, and then with a grin I chased her down the beach.

Emily could see that I was about to lose my footing and tried to dodge away, shrieking, "George, don't! We're gonna—"I caught her wrist and pulled her into the water with me. When she came up she sputtered, blew a strand of wet hair out of her eyes and finished, "Fall."

Sitting chest deep in the water we began to laugh, wiping water out of our eyes and mouths. Standing up revealed that the night breeze was quite chilly and we dashed around as quickly as possible, which resulted in tripping and bumping into each other often.

Back in the car, we cranked the heat up to full blast and shivered our way to the hotel. The clerk gave us an odd look when we burst in, soaking wet even though there was a stunning lack of rain, but gave us our room key.

I pulled my wet clothes off and pulled my pajamas over my frozen body. Emily was squirming around next to the bed and finally said, "George, could you pull on the latch of this bloody stupid dress? It's gotten stuck again." I obliged, pulling it down for her. I'm not exactly sure what happened next. It could have been the fact that we were somewhat silly with cold, that we'd had a bit too much wine, or both. Either way, we ended up kissing passionately on the bed. I gently ran my tongue against her lips and was immediately permitted entry. A few minutes later, Emily's hands slid under my shirt in preparation to remove it from my body. I knew exactly what she wanted, but I wasn't exactly sure if she was ready.

"Are you sure?" I whispered. She responded with a single, burning kiss that answered my question succinctly.

From that moment on, the only sound heard from either of us were soft exclamations of love. I felt so head over heels it was unbelievable, but I just wished I knew how short lived it was going to be.

**A/N: Well, that chapter just sort of... exploded. My goodness! Things are progressively getting more complicated, are they not? Review, please! :)**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Oh my goodness, it has been sooo long. I finally finished my Christmas chapters for my other stories, so I'm back! With the twenty-third chapter of Lost and Found... dear Lord, this is going to be one doozy of a story when I'm done. Much angst in this chapter, alert! Alert!**

**Emily's POV**

A beam of sunlight splashed across my face, rousing me from my sleep. I was tucked up against George and suddenly became aware of the fact that we were both quite naked. Memories of the night before flooded my brain and I allowed them to replay.

_-Flashback-_

_ George's face hovered over mine, his nose just barely touching my own. His hair was tousled, cheeks flushed and lips just a little kiss swollen. In short, he looked wonderful. I reached up and ran a hand through his hair, my tongue snaking into his mouth. My other hand came up and entangled in his hair as well._

_ Panting slightly for breath, we pulled apart and I found myself drowning in his eyes. They were focused directly on me and his pupils were so dilated that his irises were lost in the all-encompassing black. "I love you," he whispered, kissing his way across my jaw. I arched into his touch, pulling his head down so our foreheads touched._

_ "I love you too, Geo," I breathed, kissing the tip of his nose._

_ Things progressively got more heated. Limbs entangled, hands touched, and breathing hitched. My hands slipped beneath his shirt, my fingers splaying against the warmth of his chest. He drew in a small breath between fevered kisses. His fingertips brushed the hem of my dress and stopped short._

_ "Why'd you stop?" I asked, pulling back enough to be able to focus on his face._

_ "Are ya sure you want this?" he asked, running a rough, calloused thumb across my cheek. "I don't want to 'urt ya."_

_ I pressed a smoldering kiss to his lips and slid my hands across his chest slowly. Breaking it off and noting that his pulse was through the roof, I inquired, "Does that answer yer question?"_

_-End Flashback-_

My replaying of last night were interrupted when George began to stir. I tried to roll over to look at him, but his arms tightened around my waist firmly. "Don' move," he mumbled sleepily. "'M comfy." I laughed, feeling him press his face between my bare shoulder blades. His eyelashes fluttered against my skin.

"Okay, fine. You win," I giggled, snuggling up to him. We stayed that way for a long time and I almost fell asleep again to the steady sound of his breathing.

Finally, he relinquished his hold on me and I rolled over to face him. "G'mornin', beautiful," he said, brushing my hair out of my eyes. I smiled, kissing his lips softly.

"Mornin', love," I said.

"Hungry?" he asked, getting out of bed. I was treated to a sudden front row view of his backside and turned away to give him some privacy, my cheeks burning red.

"Yeah, I guess so," I replied, sitting up and covering my chest with the sheet. I waited until he was done calling room service to call, "George? Could ya toss me some clothes?" He, dressed in a pair of boxers and nothing else, poked his head around the corner with a grin.

"They're right there," he said, pointing to my suitcase.

"Come on, George. Please?" I whined.

He smirked. "Luv, it's nothing I haven't seen before if that's what yer nervous about."

I felt my cheeks turn pink. "You are so mean, George Harold Harrison!" I exclaimed. "Turn yer head, at least."

"Yer no fun, y'know?" George pouted, turning away. I dashed out of bed and threw a robe around my shoulders quickly.

We sat down together on the couch and flicked on the radio. Surprisingly, it wasn't a Beatles song that came on, but a Blessed Day one. "'Ey, I like this one!" George exclaimed, knowing it was one I had written most of.

"Really?" I asked, snuggling into him. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"Uh-huh," he nodded. When room service came, he tossed on a robe and came back to sit down. He had a magazine in his hand along with the food. He had ordered my favorite breakfast, scrambled eggs with salsa and toast. He didn't like the salsa part, so he substituted it on his own order with bacon.

"Complimentary magazine from the staff," George explained, putting it on the coffee table. I recognized the cover photograph immediately, mostly because it was the one from our photo shoot where we were kissing. Emblazoned across our faces was, "Of Life and Love; Music's Hottest Couple Opens Up."

I opened it up to the interview and began to read with George leaning over my shoulder.

"_George Harrison and Emily Scott are a truly lovely couple. It's rare that you see them let go of each other's hands and the looks they share are full of laughter and love. They are also a joy to speak with, which is why I'm glad they agreed to sit down to an interview with me."_

"Nice bloke, that Mr. Silver," George commented, tracing his fingers up and down my arm. I twisted to look at him in amusement.

"Changed yer mind, 'ave ya?" I joked.

The article proceeded with the interview and I laughed at some of our funnier answers. Some of them were funny, some were sweet, and one of George's answers made me get a bit of a lump in my throat.

_Q: What do you love most about Emily?_

_ A [George]: (laughs) Now you're digging deep. A lot of people might say her eyes, or her smile, or something like that, but I'm not going to. I mean, I do love those things about her, don't get me wrong, but they're not my favorite things. (shakes his head with a chuckle) This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I had this all written out on a nice little note card, but it went through the wash this morning. I think my favorite thing about her is the way she looks at me. We've often gotten a bit of flack from our friends for having silent conversations._

_ Q: What do you mean by that?_

_ A [George]: Y'know, talking with your eyes._

_ Q: With your eyes?_

_ A [George]: yeah, it's right useful sometimes. (laughs)_

I laid a finger on the quote on the page and kissed his cheek. "I'm framing that," I told him teasingly. "Gonna put it in the bedroom of our new 'ouse."

George flopped around dramatically. "No, don't! Me soft side is so carefully hidden."

"An' that's why it's in a magazine all over London," I quipped.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo OoO

Later in the month, George and I moved into our new house. It was a little bungalow with the name of Kinfauns and I loved it. We spent our sparse free time decorating it and painting.

The rest of our time was spent with our respective bands, either touring or songwriting in the , it hardly felt like work.

"Studio day today, gotta go George," I said, dashing into the kitchen and gulping down my breakfast. He wandered in after me with a yawn, ruffling up the front of his hair.

"Alright," he managed to say through another yawn. "Love ya,"

I dropped a kiss onto the top of his head as I flew past. "Love you, too," I called, getting into the car and driving away.

When I got to the studio, Aaron was just getting there as well. His light brown hair was all mussed in the back, signifying that he'd pretty much leapt out of bed, kissed his his daughters and his wife goodbye, and come straight to the studio. He looked like he was about to explode with good news.

"Hi," I said, hugging him tightly. "What's got you smilin'?"

"Song idea," he said, trotting into the building. "Wrote it last night. I was sittin' at the piano and all of a sudden, these ideas kept poppin' into me 'ead."

"Did we hear song idea?" The Ben and Michael simultaneously popped around the doorway. I rolled my eyes and hugged them both.

"What are you two doin' here?" I asked.

"Cant we look in on one of the many, numerous bands we manage one in awhile?" Michael asked innocently.

"Numerous meaning jut the one, right?" I flicked his arm.

"You've wounded me, madam," he pouted theatrically. "But seriously, we just wanted to sit in on a session. We've got nothin' else to do today."I loved having my brothers around as our managers. They loved to be silly like no one else and were notorious for playing pranks on anyone and everyone they could, but they could run a business efficiently and well.

"Okay Aaron, let's hear it." Sarah commanded, plunking herself down in a seat and looking up at him expectantly. Maggie, Lucy, and I followed suit with Fergus leaning over our shoulders.

"You really know how to make a bloke nervous," he chuckled, sitting down at the piano and beginning to play. Slowly, everyone went into a state of shock.

_The day starts_

_The day ends_

_Time crawls by_

_Night steals in pacing the floor_

_The moments creep_

_Yet I can't bear to sleep_

_'Til I hear you sing_

_And weeks pass_

_And months pass_

_Seasons fly_

_Still you don't walk through the door_

_And in a haze_

_I count the silent days_

_'Til I hear you sing once more_

_And sometimes at night time_

_I dream that you are there_

_But wake holding nothing_

_But the empty air_

_And years come_

_And years go_

_Time runs dry_

_Still I ache down to the core_

_My broken soul_

_Can't be alive and whole_

_'Til I hear you sing once more_

_And music, your music_

_It teases at my ear_

_I turn and it fades away_

_And you're not here_

_Let hopes pass_

_Let dreams pass_

_Let them die_

_Without you, what are they for?_

_I'll always feel_

_No more than halfway real_

_'Til I hear you sing once more_

The room was dead silent when he finished. No one moved and I think my mouth may have been slightly open in shock. We'd known that Aaron had a good voice, but we hadn't known it was _this_ good. The emotion in his voice was perfect and the song felt very real.

"Well?" he asked, looking self-conscious. "Was it any good or was it just utter rubbish? Because I can change—" Sarah interrupted him.

"Don't you dare change anything about that song, Aaron Michaelson," she instructed sternly. "That's best bloody song any of us have ever written."

He looked quite surprised for a moment, but then broke out into a huge grin. "You think so?" he asked sheepishly.

"Of course, it's great!" Maggie said with a smile. "What inspired it?"

"I dunno, really," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "It just sorta happened, y'know?"

"I just wish you could put it in yer set for the gig this Saturday," Michael commented. "It would put ya in the headlines fer sure."

I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. _This_ Saturday? It must have completely slipped my mind, because George and I had scheduled a night in with movies and a simple dinner. It would be impossible to reschedule the gig, so we'd have to pick a new day for the date. I knew it would make him both sad and a bit mad, so I decided that I would put off telling him for as long as I could. _Saturday morning would work_, I thought.

As it turned out, Saturday morning had other plans for me.

I woke up feeling strange. George was still dead to the world beside me. My stomach roiled and heaved in nauseating circles. Was I going to be sick? My body decided that for me as I sprinted to the bathroom, trying not to throw up all over our new rugs. I just barely made it to the toilet before the contents of my stomach made their grand appearance. _Yep, definitely going to be sick._

I hunched over the toilet miserably, dry heaving as my stomach continued to spasm, bringing up nothing. Frantic bare feet came padding into the bathroom.

"Luv, are ya okay?" George asked in a panicked way, crouching down next to me and rubbing my back gently.

"Just gear," I rasped, my throat raw. "I"m lovely, how are you? My comment was interrupted by a fresh wave of retching. When I finished, I slumped against George. "Must've been the fish last night, I thought it had gone a bit funny," I muttered, my mouth tasting terrible.

"I'll get ya some mouthwash and water," he said, carefully getting up.

"Thanks, luv," I said, leaning against the wall gingerly. He handed me a bottle of mouthwash and a glass of water. I gulped the water quickly and got up to rinse my mouth over the sink. George kept a close hold on me to make sure I wouldn't fall over. This would've been nice, until he insisted on leading me around everywhere.

"George, I _can_ walk, y'know," I said irritably, trying to pry his hands off me.

"I just don't want ya to 'urt yerself," he tried to explain himself. I fixed him with a look.

"So you think I'm a danger to meself?" I inquired, my eyebrows on the rise."

"Well, you _did _just puke yer guts up a few minutes ago," he retorted.

"Yeah, but would you _please _stop actin' like I'm made of glass? I'm not going to break, George," I stated, rolling my eyes. "In case you missed the memo, yer _not_ my mother."

"No because I'm not dead—" My eyes popped open wide. Had he really just said that? A deep pain arced through my chest and I took a step back. "Oh Christ, I didn't—" he exclaimed quickly.

"Oh no, it's fine. You just stated a fact. Yer right, my mum _is _dead. Thank you fer reminding me." I brushed past him pulled some clothes from my side of the closet, and shut myself in the bathroom, ignoring his calls after me.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I pulled myself together and started to get ready. I wore a soft green dress with a pleated skirt, white pumps, and my necklace that George had given me for my birthday. Even when I was angry with him, I couldn't bring myself not to wear it. I brushed my teeth and stepped out the door, intending to grab a muffin that I had baked last night. George wasn't downstairs. I assumed he was in his studio.

Pausing, I scribbled down a note for George. I felt terrible, but I didn't have time to make it right in person or drop the bomb about our canceled date.

_George ~ I'm really sorry about this morning. I guess we were both feeling a bit edgy. But what I'm even more sorry about is what I'm going to say next. It totally slipped my mind that I have a gig in Manchester tonight, which is the night we planned for our date. I won't be home and I feel awful.I want to reschedule, though. I'll call you tonight when we get there. I love you even when we fight. ~Emily._

I set it on his breakfast plate and left, feeling horrible. At the studio, we packed up our equipment and got in our ginormous van. "Next stop, Manchester," Sarah called from her seat, strumming her bass.

"Em, what's wrong?" Maggie asked as I halfheartedly plucked at the strings of my new electric guitar. It wasn't a nice one, but it was a necessity now.

"Huh?" I looked up. "Oh, nothin'. I'm just a bit distracted." Maggie gave me her famous 'stop lying' look.

"I know you, and whenever you look like that it's because you fought with George," she said, patting my hand sympathetically. "What 'appened?"

I huffed out a sigh. "A whole bunch of little stuff that blew up into more than it should have," I mumbled. "It didn't even make any sense, Mags. An' I don't really wanna repeat most of it, but I had to cancel our special night in because of this gig."

"You know what I think?" Sarah interjected. "I think we need to play some music an' just unwind." For the rest of the ride, we just doodled around on our instruments and chatted.

**George's POV**

About an hour after our fight, I wandered downstairs in search of breakfast. "Emily?" I called. No response. I entered the kitchen and saw a note on the plate at my seat at the table. My heart sank.

Picking it up, I opened it and began to read, feeling more and more sad and irate the further I read. Not only had we just had a fight over nearly nothing at all, now our date was canceled and I was going to be home alone. All night. With a combination of a groan and a growl, I snatched some cold food from the fridge back up to my studio. What a fantastic day this was turning out to be.

Later in the day, the phone rang. I reluctantly hauled myself off the couch and grabbed it with the tips of my fingers. "Hullo?" I mumbled into the receiver, messing up the back of my hair.

"Geo?" John's voice inquired through the phone. "No offense, mate, but you sound like 'ell."

I sighed loudly, flopping back into my chair. "Figure I got a right to, today anyway," I said snippily.

"Care to explain?" John asked in annoyance. He had little patience for sulking of any sort. Unless of course, it was his own. "Because I can't tell if yer heartbroken, hungover, or just sick. The three are closely related, y'know."

Normally I would find it funny, but nothing was funny today. "Sod off, will ya? Em an' I had a fight an' she's got a gig tonight, which is the night we've been planning as a night in," I muttered, stretching out in the chair and staring at my mismatched socks.

"Oi, that's rough," he commiserated. "I haven't got anything goin' tonight, fancy goin' to a pub or something? You could probably use a pick me up."

I didn't even stop to think before responding with yes. I wanted to get drunk enough to forget I had had a fight with my girl.

That night, I met John at a dingy little pub in downtown London. It was very much off the radar, which was why we went. Being a Beatle had its perks, since they gave us free drinks and two rooms upstairs to use as we saw fit. In other words, it was a recipe for disaster.

"Didn't I tell ya, Georgie?" John slurred sometime later, throwing his arm that wasn't otherwise occupied with a girl sloppily over my shoulder. He smelled like he was well on his way to consuming half of the alcohol currently in stock. "Jus' what ya needed."

I blinked fuzzily and grinned. I had possibly had just a bit too much a well, or way more than too much, I couldn't remember. "Yup," I bobbed my head up and down. Soon, a smooth, cool hand snaked its way up my arm. I tried to make my alcohol inhibited eyes focus. They found themselves staring at a beautiful, voluptuous girl smiling lazily at me.

"Hi," she purred seductively, straddling my lap and linking her arms around my neck. "Haven't seen you around here before."

"Hi," I said, deciding my common sense could go take a flying leap at that point. Kissing her full, pink lips, I mumbled, "Wanna go upstairs?" Grabbing my hand, she led my stumbling self up the stairs.

**Emily's POV**

We finished our second to last song and I smiled widely at the cheering audience. Their reception had been amazing, much politer than the audience last week who had nearly abducted our drummer in a surge onto the stage. "Thank you," Sarah said into her microphone. "Yer all fab listeners. I'm sorry to say this is our last song tonight. We'll leave ya with our best known song, Move. God bless!"

_I'm not about to give up_

_Because I heard you say_

_There's gonna be brighter days_

_There's gonna be brighter days_

_I won't stop, I'll keep my head up_

_No, I'm not here to stay_

_There's gonna be brighter days_

_There's gonna be brighter days_

_I just might bend but I won't break_

_As long as I can see your face_

_When life won't play along_

_And right keeps going wrong_

_And I can't seem to find my way_

_I know where I am found_

_So I won't let it drag me down_

_Oh, I'll keep dancing anyway_

_I'm gonna move (move)_

_I'm gonna move (move)_

_I'm gonna move_

_I've got to hold it steady_

_Keep my head in the game_

_Everything is about to change_

_Everything is about to change_

_This hurt is getting heavy_

_But I'm not about to cave_

_Everything's about to change_

_There's gonna be brighter days_

_I just might bend but won't break_

_As long as I can see your face_

_When life won't play along_

_And right keeps going wrong_

_And I can't seem to find my way_

_I know where I am found_

_So I won't let it drag me down_

_Oh, I'll keep dancing anyway_

_No matter what may come_

_Gotta move to a different drum_

_No matter what life brings_

_Gotta move gotta move to a different beat _

_No matter what may come_

_Gotta move to a different drum_

_No matter what life brings_

_Gotta move gotta move to a different beat _

_I just might bend but won't break_

_As long as I can see your face_

_When life won't play along_

_And right keeps going wrong_

_And I can't seem to find my way_

_I know where I am found_

_So I won't let it drag me down_

_Oh, I'll keep dancing anyway_

_When life won't play along_

_And right keeps going wrong_

_And I can't seem to find my way_

_I know where I am found_

_So I won't let it drag me down_

_Oh, I'll keep dancing anyway_

_No matter what may come_

_Gotta move to a different drum_

_No matter what life brings_

_Gotta move gotta move to a different beat_

We ran off the stage to thunderous applause. When we got back to the hotel, I dove for the phone. My stomach had been swimming with butterflies all night. Quickly, I dialed our home number and waited, my heart sinking further and further with each ring. He wasn't going to answer. When I got the answering machine I wanted to sit down and cry. Instead, I left a message pleading him to call me at the hotel in the morning and hung up.

Sleeping was not an easy thing. I flopped around in the bed and eventually moved to the couch so I wouldn't bother Sarah so much. The next morning, I could hardly wait until we got into the van. I was practically bouncing off the walls the entire ride home. More than once I was asked to kindly calm the hell down. But I couldn't, my knees kept bouncing and I put my hands on them to keep them somewhat still.

I packed my things up as quickly as I could and hopped in my car, trying not to speed to Kinfauns. _George, I'm so sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. _But when I got there, it was empty.

"George?" I called, checking all the rooms in the house frantically. He wasn't there. Picking up the phone, I dialed John. When he picked up, he sounded like he'd had way, way too much to drink last night. "Whaddayawant?" he groaned into the phone.

"Good morning to you too, John," I rolled my eyes. "George isn't home and I'm just a bit worried. "Do you know where he is?"

"Um, try that little bar that we go to when we want to go without weird disguises," he said slowly as though trying to avoid giving himself a worse headache.

"Thanks, John," I said gratefully. He suddenly seemed to remember something, but I was already hanging up.

"Wait, Em, he's—" I nearly dialed him back, but decided against it at the last minute. Whatever it was couldn't have been too important if he hadn't remembered it at first. Little did I know that it was just a bit more significant than I thought.

When I got there, I asked the barmaid which room George Harrison was staying in. She recognized me as his girlfriend and pointed me in the direction of his room. For some reason, she looked at me with a strange mixture of warning and pity in her eyes. _Why could that be? _

When I got there, the door was slightly ajar so I let myself in. My eyes quickly widened to the size of saucers and I dropped my purse to the ground at the sight that was burned into my retinas.

George was laying in bed, totally asleep, his arms around some blonde girl that I'd never seen before. And their clothes were scattered wildly across the room. "What?" I gasped.

**A/N: Bum, bum, BUUUUUUUUMMMM! I'll try to post the next one ASAP, I promise. :)**

**Review?**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I feel sort of bad that this is the chapter I'm posting on George's birthday, but it was the next one in line. *squirms uncomfortably* Sorry, George! And happy 70th! I love you lots!**

**Emily's POV**

My heart felt like it had stopped and turned to ice in my chest and my feet were rooted to the floor in horror. _What?_ George began to stir and moan a bit, probably from a hangover to beat all hangovers. When his eyes fluttered open, they fixed on me and bulged.

"Oh God, Em, it's not—" I sliced through his words, my disbelief and anger putting themselves into words.

"Oh no, I'm sure it's not," I snapped. "I'm sure you 'ave a perfectly innocent explanation for why yer in bed—completely naked, might I add—with some blonde girl whose name you probably don't even know. I'm sure you _absolutely_ didn't get pissed off yer 'ead and fuck 'er. Or is that exactly what 'appened?"

Before he could speak again, I turned on my heel and fled to the car, tears making my vision hazy. I drove back to Kinfauns as fast as I could without a risk of being pulled over for speeding. Parking haphazardly, I leapt out and ran into the bedroom.

_Nice job, Emily_, I thought savagely as I ripped my clothes from the closet and dumping them unceremoniously into my suitcase. _Another relationship shot to hell._ I was just snapping the case shut when George came skidding into the bedroom, hair standing on end, chest heaving, and eyes wild.

"Emily please, just—" he pleaded. I was not in the mood.

"Listen?" I'm sorry, but I'm really not in the mood for excuses, George," I said tightly, feeling tears spring to my eyes again.

"Hear me out," he said quickly, the words expelling from him in a gush. "After we fought, I felt bloody awful. John called an' invited me to the pub. I went, got pissed, an' I don't really remember much after that."

His rushed apology did little to appease me. "George, I said in my note that I was gonna _call_ ya after the gig. Did it not occur to you that I wanted to talk about what 'appened and try to make it right? Apparently not, because you went to the pub with John, drank yerself into a stupor and then messed around with some bird."

Tears started to run down my cheeks. George reached for my arm, but I twisted away bluntly. His eyes fell on my suitcase and he paled considerably. "Yer leavin'?" he asked dumbly.

I laughed humorlessly. "No, I'm just packin' up me things fer shits an' giggles to see how long it'll take," I allowed sarcasm to pour into my words.

Now George's eyes were welling up. "Please don't, Em," he pleaded. "We can work it out, I won't ever cheat again, I promise."

My voice was soft when I finally spoke again after a moment of staring at the ceiling and trying to collect myself. "You also promised to be true to me in the first place," I retorted. "How much are yer promises worth, then? What would 'appen if I went away again an' you were in a lousy mood? How do I know you wouldn't go out and find another girl to fuck? Jesus Christ, George, for all I know I could leave for a week an' you'd be fuckin' married!"

"All you ever do is run away from yer problems!" George yelled in irritation. "When we fight, you run away. Ya ran away from John when you found out 'e was married, an' you ran away from yer father. I'd like to talk problems out with ya, but yer gone before I can!"

"I walk away from situations that threaten my wellbeing, emotional, physical, or otherwise," I said coldly, knowing if I yelled I'd break down sobbing. "Would you suggest I stayed with a man who raped me an' beat me?"

His face hardened and I knew he was retreating behind the walls of blunt sarcasm and bitterness. "Go on, then!" he snarled. "Go! I'm sure you'll be hooked up with Eric or someone else famous by the end of the week. You played Ringo's emotions, fooled around with John, an' moved on to me within a month. It's just the status that matters to ya, isn't it? As long as they keep ya in the spotlight yer as 'appy as a fuckin' clam, aren't ya?"

"What the hell are you insinuating, George Harrison?" I picked up my suitcase, faking a calm demeanor. Things were going downhill fast.

"Don't play thick with me, Emily. Ya do that pretty well without playin'," his lip was curled with disgust, but his eyes were the telltale bright that only unshed tears could produce.

"This conversation seems to follow me everywhere I go, but right now the phrase concerning teapots, kettles, an' the color black springs to mind," I growled.

Thinking back on it, I probably shouldn't have said that. It was the proverbial straw that broke George's back. Or rather, his composure. With an angry snarl, he strode forward and slapped me across the face. Hard. The moment his hand made contact, a starburst of pain exploded across my flesh, making my head snap to the side. A red mark was flowering there immediately, I didn't have to look to tell that much. He turned the approximate color of someone who knows he has just done something royally stupid. In other words, he turned bleached-bone white.

With a final, burning look at a now-speechless George, I yanked the jewelry that had been my constant companion since February from my neck and let it fall to the ground with a tuneless tinkle. I couldn't get out the door fast enough.

When I was in the car, I felt the tears make their escape from my eyes. When they touched the slap mark, it stung quite a bit. _Putting literal meaning to the term 'rubbing salt into the wound',_ I thought, starting the car and pulling out of the driveway so fast I spun gravel every which way. I needed to talk to Mo, both about this and something else, something that could be devastating to me if I was right. It seemed like I was never going fast enough all the way there.

Surprisingly, Paul was just leaving the flat belonging to Mo and Ringo. When I got out, he waved happily to me, a grin spreading across his face. "'Ey, Em! Just stopped by to chat with Ringo an' Mo..." he trailed off, seeing that I was trembling hard. "Luv, what's wrong?"

**Paul's POV**

"Yeah, okay Rings. I'll see ya tomorrow!" I exclaimed, waving goodbye to the drummer and his girlfriend. I was glad Emily had introduced them to each other. I was almost back to my car when Emily, speaking of the redhead, pulled up. As soon as she got out of the car, I could tell something was wrong. She looked like she'd been crying an she nearly fell over when she got out because her legs were quivering so badly.

"Luv, what's wrong?" I repeated, walking over to her. Somehow, this appeared to drain the very little that remained of her composure and she began to cry... hard. Her shoulders shook and she leaned forward with the force of her sobs. Alarmed, I gathered her into my arms, hugging her tightly.

"G-g..." she tried to stutter around her tears, but the words wouldn't come. I shushed her, gently stroking her hair.

"Shh, it's alright Em. What 'appened?" I murmured, tugging her away from me a little bit. Her eyes were red and puffy and a big red blotch covered most of her left cheek.

"George," she finally managed to squeak, the mention of the name making fresh tears surge down her cheeks. I was about to ask if he was all right, but then I took another look at the broken girl standing before me. Everything fell into place then. When I had called John this morning he told me that Emily and George had gotten into a fight the day before and he and Geo had gone to the pub. Blessed Day had had a gig in Manchester last night, so George had gone to the pub, gotten drunk and... _Nice one, Geo. Real nice._ Mild anger surged through me and then I took another look at her face. The slap mark shone like a beacon._ What the... Oh that. Little. Shit._ _He_ cheats and then hits _her?_ I was gonna _kill_ that kid.

"Em, I'm going to take ya inside, okay?" I asked, putting an arm around her unresisting frame to steady her. Just before the doorstep, she yanked away from me and was sick in the bushes. A wave of sympathy twinged through my chest. The poor thing. I helped her stand when she was finished and rapped at the door.

Mo answered, a hand flying to her mouth in horror when she saw her friend's bedraggled state. "Wot—" she squeaked.

"Take 'er, will ya? I need to talk to Rings an' maybe use yer phone." Mo tugged Emily into an embrace, leading her into the sitting room.

Ringo popped his head around the door, confusion etched across his face. "What's up, mate?" he asked, faltering at my dark look.

"Geo, that's what," I growled, pulling him into the kitchen and sitting down heavily, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms. "That bloody prat went an' cheated on Emily an' hit 'er."

"What?" Ringo's mouth dropped open in shock.

"Yeah," I affirmed. "D'you 'ave Michael or Ben's number?"

"You can't call _them,_ they'll murder George!" Ringo protested. "Look Paul, I know yer upset, but we do still sorta need our lead guitarist."

"You've got a point there," I sighed.

**Emily's POV**

I wiped my eyes shakily, taking a sip of the water that Mo had gotten me. "I'm alright, Mo," I said, fending off the ice pack she was attempting to give me. I wasn't exactly fine, but the last thing I needed right then was too much sympathy. I'd never stop crying if someone didn't tell me to buck up.

"Take the ice, you'll 'ave a bruise otherwise," she persisted until I pressed it to my throbbing skin. It did help, a little anyway.

"Mo?" I began, fear squeezing my stomach just thinking about what I suspected was happening with my body. "What's the date today?"

She frowned. "Uhm, the twenty-first of August," she said slowly, peeking at the calendar on the wall. I mentally ran through the last month and nearly shrieked. My period was a week late.

"I'm late," whispered, my heart thumping hollowly.

"What?" Mo sought clarification, even though I was pretty sure she knew what I was talking about.

"Mo," I said, kneading my fingers together and staring at her fearfully. "I think I might be pregnant." Saying it out loud only made it worse. "I've been 'aving all the symptoms. Mornin' sickness, mood swings... what do I do?"

"Ya need to get tested," she said, probably almost as nervous as me about the whole thing. I blanched; an unwed woman getting a pregnancy test didn't look good. It would be even worse because of my status. "Don't worry, I know a nice doc who won't judge ya too much an' I promise he won't leak any of the information to the public."

"... Okay," I said, feeling my eyes burn with salty liquid again. George and I were finished and I might be carrying his child. How much worse could this situation possibly get? "What if I'm pregnant?"

"Then yer pregnant," Mo said firmly, hugging me briefly. "It'll be fine, I'll 'elp ya no matter what happens. I'm gonna go call the doctor right now an' see when 'is first opening is. Maybe yer just really stressed out. Stress makes those symptoms 'appen too."

She left the room. As much as I wanted to believe thatI was simply under too much pressure, but I couldn't make myself fully accept this explanation.

Soon Mo came back. "Turns out, 'e just 'ad someone cancel on 'im and he 'as an opening in three hours," she said.

"Thanks, Mo," I said, feeling like I wanted to sleep for the next hundred years or so. "I'm feelin' kinda tired, I might take a bit of a nap." She nodded in understanding and I stretched out on the couch, tucking a decorative pillow under my head.

**Ringo's POV**

Paul and I sat in the kitchen, smoking in meditative silence. We knew we had to talk to George, but neither of us knew how to do it without being either too soft or far too harsh. Mo came hurrying into the room. She dropped a distracted kiss onto the top of my head and made a beeline for the telephone.

Dialing a number, she pulled the cord around the corner and disappeared. I caught murmured snatches of the conversation. "Doctor Smith? … times for today... an opening? … Ta very much." This all confused me. Doctor Smith was an OB-GYN that Mo knew because his wife got her hair cut where she worked. She had his card in case we were to get married and want to start a family. I didn't know what to think of that particular part of our life right then. I wanted to continue our relationship, but I definitely knew it was far too early to be thinking about the married life just yet.

When she came back into the room, she carefully avoided eye contact with both Paul and I. "Who was that, Mo?" I asked curiously. She flushed a bright red.

"Just the doctor, I want Em to get her cheek looked at. Might be bruisin' a bit," she said, stumbling over her words often enough to make me think she was lying.

"I didn't know OB-GYNs looked at bruised faces," I commented. She stiffened a little before scurrying out of the room.

Paul spoke up softly. "Rings, ya don't think George uh, y'know..." I caught onto what he was trying to voice and shook my head vehemently.

"Oh Christ, no," I disagreed. "George can do some dumb stuff when he's mad, but 'e wouldn't do that to anyone, 'specially not her."

"I didn't think so, but I wanted to know what you thought," he said, combing his fingers through his hair.

**Emily's POV**

Mo and I sat alone in the waiting room. For some reason or another, we were the only two in there. I supposed it was just the slow part of the day for them. I'd had all the tests done and now we just had to wait. That, I think, was the worst part of it all. Anticipation. Doctor Smith was a nice man. He smiled all the way through the appointment and made small chat with me to help me feel more at ease, presumably. It didn't really work all that well, but it was nice of him to try. He had long, unruly brown hair, bluish eyes, and a kind face. Even though he was kind to me, I could almost sense that he disapproved of the fact that I, a famously unmarried woman, was coming to get a pregnancy test.

Eventually, he popped his head around the door. My heart began to hammer in my chest, an unpleasant, painful side effect of being scared out of my mind. "Miss Scott?" he called. Mo squeezed my hand in reassurance as I got up and followed him to one of the rooms in the back.

"As you can see, I've got the results of your pregnancy tests here in my hand," he said once we were seated. His face was carefully wiped of all emotion.

"Yes, what do they say?" I said tensely, my heart making earnest attempts to leap out of my chest.

The look he gave me before he spoke was one of pure pity. I knew what the answer was going to be before he even opened his mouth and said the words in his sweet, soothing London accent. "You're pregnant."

**A/N: Sorry, everybody! I'll try to have the next chapter up as soon as I can! Happy birthday again, George! I hope you, John, and Ravi Shankar are having a wonderful time up there.**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: I'm so awful at updating regularly, I'm sorry. Read anyway, please? :)**

**Emily's POV**

It felt like my airways were being constricted by a heavy, invisible hand. I couldn't breathe; my vision tunneled. "Pregnant?" I gasped, my heart shattering so much I very much doubted it would ever get put back together correctly. Doctor Smith's kind eyes peered at me with concern and pity.

"Yes, I'm afraid you are," he said softly. I expect you've got a lot of thinking to do. I'll take you back to your friend."

I didn't say anything, but merely nodded and tried to get to my feet, wavering and swaying back and forth. Seeing this, Doctor Smith took my elbow and gently led me back to the waiting room. Mo was sitting alone in the waiting room, twisting her hands in her lap and rocking back and forth slightly. When she saw me, her blue eyes widened and filled with tears: she could already tell.

The doctor handed me off to her and not a word was spoken between us while we walked back to her car. After we got in, she turned to me. "Are you okay?" she asked, putting a soft hand on my arm.

I shook my head once, for once not feeling compelled to lie about my mental state. "I dunno. It feels as though someone's dropped the weight of the world into my arms. It's pretty fuckin' 'eavy, I'll say that much." My voice was snappish and bitter, and I felt bad for dropping myself like a dead weight into Mo's care, but my heart had all but cracked in two and my emotions had become numbed and suppressed.

She merely nodded and continued driving. Back at her flat, I got out and went straight to the guest bedroom, laying on my back on the bed and staring at the ceiling blankly. I felt ill, and it wasn't just the pregnancy—Oh God, I still wasn't used to thinking of myself as expecting. _That's even worse,_ I groaned silently, getting up to crank the window open and let some mildly fresh air in. London air could only get so fresh.

Why did this have to happen now? I mean, there was never a really good time unless I was married, but now? Right on the cusp of major fame for me and the band I was in? The consequences of unprotected sex were bound to come back and bite me sooner or later, but I wished it was later rather than sooner.

Flopping back into the pillows, I let out a long growl of frustration and ground my eyes shut to stop the tears. I was shutting the floodgates, no more tears for me. I wasn't going to cry about this anymore.

A knock came at the door. Reluctantly, I sat up and said quietly, "Come in." Ringo popped his head around the door, movements and expression tentative and sympathetic. I patted the bed next to me and he came in, looking for all the world like he was walking on eggshells.

"Hey," he murmured, sitting down beside me and rubbing my arm. "How are ya doin'?"

"Been better," I admitted, leaning into his touch. Ringo was always the person everyone went to if they needed someone to lean on, figuratively or literally. It was a good thing he had no real problems with personal space.

He tucked an arm around my shoulders. "I'll bet that's true. Paul's hoppin' mad. Think 'e might go bonkers on us if his jets don't cool soon."

I peered up at him. "There are many things that surprise me. That is not one of them."

"There's somethin' buggin' ya," he pointed out, pushing my hair out of my face so I couldn't hide behind it. "Care to share? I know Maureen took ya to the doctor, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't just fer that mark on yer face. Do you wanna talk about it?"

Ringo's earnest blue eyes burned into my own. I so desperately wanted to spill about everything that happened, but I couldn't. The words wouldn't come, so I turned to face him and said, "Not really, no. I'll be fine Rings, I promise. I just need time is all."

Not entirely convinced, he nodded slowly, kissed my forehead, and left. A few seconds later, I leapt from the bed, ran to the bathroom, and puked my guts up. Again. Fine was not going to be a word describing me for a long time.

**George's POV**

I crouched on the floor in numb disbelief at what I had done, and also at what Emily had said. Her words hurt a lot and I'm sure the slap had been extremely painful as well. _The slap,_ I remembered, a moan escaping my lips. How could I be so stupid? How could I have done that?

Well, it wasn't entirely me who was at fault. If she hadn't been so childish after our fight that really should have never happened the day before, we could have talked it out and we wouldn't have been on bad terms. Then, I wouldn't have been in such a piss-poor mood and... _Jesus Christ,_ I thought. _I could go on for ages with all of these bloody what-ifs. They aren't going to make a difference; what happened still happened and there's no changing it. What a kind world that would be._

Slowly, I looked up and saw something glinting on the floor. My mind flashed back to Emily yanking something from her neck and dropping it to the floor. My heart sank to a new low in my chest and I got up on trembling legs to make my way over to the source of the sparkle. _Please, don't let it be..._

It was.

I sank to my knees once more and grasped it in my numb, shaking fingers. It was the necklace I gave Emily for her birthday. She'd never taken it off since I gave it to her. That signified she was really and truly believing that our relationship was at an end. Hot tears welled up in my eyes and spilled onto my cheeks. I'd never loved anyone like I loved her and I don't think I ever would again.

Earnest sobs began to shake my body and I slumped against the bed with the broken necklace trailing limply from my hands. I'm not sure how long I stayed like that, but it was long enough to feel stiff and pained when the doorbell rang and I stood up to answer it. It was Paul, and to say he looked annoyed as hell would be a massive understatement.

"Oh um, hi Paul," I said somewhat lamely, attempting to discreetly wipe my eyes and hoping they weren't as red as they felt. What I wasn't prepared for was Paul's fist smashing into the side of my face. I yelped, clutching the side of my face in shock. "What the bloody 'ell was that fer?"

"What the 'ell was that for? I think you know really well what the fuckin' 'ell that was for," he snapped, stepping inside and slamming the door shut behind him. I cringed, he was glaring darkly at me and if I had to guess I would say he'd seen my recently turned ex-girlfriend in the last few hours or so.

"Oh," I managed, backing into the kitchen meekly and sitting down. Paul sat himself down in the chair across from me, slamming a hand down with a seemingly unnecessary amount of force.

"Oh? That's all yer gonna say? Oh?" he growled. "George, I just saw Emily and that poor girl was cryin' so hard she was sick! An' if that's not enough, she's got a handprint on 'er face to beat the band. Took me all of four seconds to guess who that was from. What do ya have to say for yerself? Anything?" He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair expectantly.

"... I...I dunno, Paul," I confessed, burying my head in my hands. When he said Emily had been sick I felt my stomach drop to the bottom of my abdomen and I was nearly sick right along with her.

Paul saw my face whiten and his eyes soften somewhat, though his face remained stone cold. "Look George, I know how much we all cheat an' I can't really lecture ya without feelin' like a bloody hypocrite, but never do it outta anger and for God's sake don't cheat on the bird you've been goin' on about marrying since you'd dated for a week! If you think she's the one, don't cheat."

I looked up indignantly. _He _was certainly one to speak. "Not exactly good advice, Macca. John cheats like mad and he's married, you say you might marry Jane an' ya have a different bird every night on tour—sometimes two if yer feelin' like it—an' even Ringo cheats. Mate, if you think I'm not sorry for what I did you've got another thing comin'."

I got up, padded back to the bedroom, picked up the abandoned necklace, and came back. Brandishing it in his face I said, "Before she left, she took all of her clothes an' pulled this from 'er neck. She ain't comin' back an' there's nothing I can do about it."

He took it in his hands, examining it hesitantly. His face grew sad. "Isn't this—" I interrupted him bluntly.

"The necklace I gave 'er for her birthday, the one she's never taken off since then? Yeah, it is." I felt my throat clog up with tears again. "And if that's not a clear sign we're finished I don't know what is." My voice broke.

Paul was silent for a long while, staring at his hands as though they contained the answer to life itself, or perhaps just the answer to the problem at hand. Finally he spoke, "To change the subject Geo, tempers can be hard to overcome, I know. But John especially out of the four of us could tell ya that it just—" I stood up abruptly.

"Paul, if you've got ideas on how to help me solve my problem at hand, then fine. But if yer 'ere to lecture me an' swat my wrists fer what I've done wrong you can show yerself the fuck out. I know I fucked up big time an' I don't need someone to tell me that." Not bothering to move my chair back to where it had been before I sent it skittering away, I stormed back to my room and slammed the door sharply, lying down on the bed and staring at the ceiling. I didn't cry again, but waited until I heard the door shutting that signified his leaving before I let loose with a long, colorful torrent of swear words.

We had a tour scheduled about a week from that date and I hardly ate or slept between the breakup and the start of the tour. As a result, I felt like a dead man walking by the time we got in the van.

"George, are you feeling alright?" A question from Brian brought my bumping back to Earth. More and more, I retreated into my own thoughts whenever possible. I shook my head to clear it, wincing as I unintentionally jarred my headache that had been steadily pulsing behind my eyeballs for the better part of that day.

"Hm? Oh yeah. Sorry, Brian," I muttered, focusing on our worried manager. "Did you want something from me?"

He shook his head in the negative. "No, I just noticed you looked rather peaky. Is your throat all right?" I had a notorious history of having a sore throat right before concerts. The others, including Mal and Neil, peered in anxiously. My getting sick wasn't the end of the world since I didn't say much, but if I looked pale onstage you could bet there would be an article in every gossip rag from here to the northernmost end of Scotland within hours that 'Beatle George Harrison is Deathly Ill but Still Played His Shows.' And then, there would be severe showers of flowers and get well soon letters from our rather over-zealous fans that would pile up and near the ceiling.

"No, I'm fine," I said, feeling my aforementioned throat twinge in tandem with my words. "Just a little tired. Didn't sleep especially well last night for some reason." The others nodded and returned to whatever they were doing. Not to my surprise at all, I'd been receiving at bit of the 'cold shoulder' lately. All of the lads had grown rather attached to Emily in the time we'd known her, probably because she cooked for us, and sympathized with her more than me for obvious reasons. It wasn't like I wasn't so sorry I was making myself sick about it, though.

The Beatles were all serial cheaters, but sometimes we would side with the cheated rather than the cheater. Only sometimes, though. Apparently, I got unlucky enough to be sided against.

For the duration of the ride I slouched against the window. Unfortunately for me it was summer and the window offered no cooling for my suddenly far too warm forehead. I wiped my sticky bangs off my forehead and closed my eyes with a sigh. It was going to be a _long_ concert set.

When we finally pulled up to the hotel, I felt even worse. My throat felt like someone had gone over it repeatedly with sandpaper and I could hardly see straight. "Geo, yer sure yer alright?" Ringo asked tentatively. Of the three, he'd been the nicest to me. I nodded once, grasping the handle of my case tightly. As soon as I took one step, I wobbled and nearly collapsed. Ringo hauled me upright by the armpits and felt my forehead.

"Fine my arse, Geo," he retorted in concern. "Yer burnin' up!"

I rolled my eyes, squirming away from him. "It's hot out, that's all," I rasped, immediately berating myself for speaking. There was no way he couldn't tell my throat was killing me.

"Right, that's why ya sound like you've been eatin' sand," he said, hands on my shoulders, marching to the front of the van and poking his head out the accordion doors. "Oi! Geo's burnin' up an' his throat sounds bloody awful!" he called.

"Thank you Rings," I said dryly, feeling a desire to sink to the ground and not get up again.

"Shut up, you'll make yerself sicker if ya talk," he said. He wasn't really cross, just worried out of his mind that I was actually seriously ill. He was always the worrier of the group.

"Why is it always you, Harrison?" John teased, hoisting my luggage over his shoulder as well. "Yer always sick right when we can't afford ya to be!"

"Believe me," I said, my throat burning. "I don't plan it like this."

In the hotel room I changed into my pajamas and laid on the bed with a pitcher of water, a glass, lemon wedges, and a pot of tea on its way up from room service. The lads were going out to have some fun or one sort or another and there I was, in the hotel room. Alone. Being sick, if nothing else, was dead _boring_.

I had a notebook in front of me that I was using to write my mum and dad, Louise, Peter, and Harry. However, I started to think of a song idea. I'd never really written any "real" music before, so it was a bit of an unexpected sensation to have lyrics and melody bouncing around in my head. Not altogether a bad thing, but unexpected nonetheless.

I took a break to receive the pot of tea from room service and then went straight back to work. By the time I was finished, I drained the pot of tea and crumpled failures were scattered around me. Since I couldn't sing at the moment at all, I picked out the melody on my acoustic.

_Since she's been gone I want no one to talk to me._

_It's not the same but I'm to blame, it's plain to see._

_So go away, leave me alone, don't bother me._

_I can't believe that she would leave me on my own._

_It's just not right when every night I'm all alone._

_I've got no time for you right now, don't bother me._

_I know I'll never be the same if I don't get her back again._

_Because I know she'll always be the only girl for me._

_But 'till she's here please don't come near, just stay away._

_I'll let you know when she's come home. Until that day,_

_Don't come around, leave me alone, don't bother me._

_I've got no time for you right now, don't bother me._

_I know I'll never be the same if I don't get her back again._

_Because I know she'll always be the only girl for me._

_But 'till she's here please don't come near, just stay away._

_I'll let you know when she's come home. Until that day,_

_Don't come around, leave me alone, don't bother me._

_Don't bother me._

_Don't bother me._

_Don't bother me._

_Don't bother me._

The song was a product of both my illness and the fact that it felt like there were several red-hot needles in my heart. I hadn't seen Emily since that day, except for when she was on the telly with Blessed ay for some concert they did. Even then I hadn't seen her for long because I turned the telly off and buried the remote in the cushions so I wouldn't be tempted to turn it back on. I still couldn't find the damn thing one week later.

With all my heart, I wished I could go back in time and make it so all of this never happened. Time travel would fix a lot of problems, but maybe Emily and I were just never meant to be.

Somehow, that thought hurt me more than my throat ever would.

**Emily's POV**

It had been a week since I ended it with George. I hadn't heard a word form him and was slightly relieved by this fact. I don't think I could have stayed fast with my resolution never to have anything to do with him ever again if I had. I hadn't told Ben and Michael about it but, predictably, they found out anyway. It was all I could do to keep them from marching straight to Abbey Road and pounding the living daylights out of him.

"Em, you feelin' okay? You look pale," Ben tapped my shoulder from across the isle of our bus. We were on our way to Scotland for a month long engagement. Fergus was thrilled because, in his words, 'I won't 'ave to listen to all yer bloody English accents so much.' Lucy had proceeded to talk in a horrible Irish accent until the whole bus was begging her to stop.

"Yeah, I'm fine Ben," I replied. He gave me a look. "Honest, I am. I'm not made of glass, big brother. I won't break at the slightest whisper of wind."

"Okay, just checkin'," he said, turning back to the book he was reading and alternating between reading it and discreetly staring at Maggie. I couldn't pinpoint exactly how long he had an eye for her, but I'd been subtly nudging him in the right direction. Both of my brothers could be as outgoing as the day was long, but as soon as a girl caught their eye they became cripplingly shy.

Mo was the only one who knew about my pregnancy at that point. I didn't want to tell anyone for several reasons, the most significant being I was afraid. I didn't know what they would think and risking someone on the outside finding out was unthinkable. It would tarnish my reputation forever, especially because I was part of a sort of Christian band. Every day, I checked my stomach in the mirror, probing for a bump of some sort. Thus far, nothing. But there would be in time, that was inevitable.

Was I going to keep it? I had no idea, probably. As much as it felt wrong, it also felt like the right thing to do. It was also partially me being incredibly selfish; by keeping the baby I held onto a shred of George, the only shred I had left. I talked of moving on, but my heart was clinging to the failed relationship stubbornly. During that time in my life I Think the most apt description of my mental state would be one big ball of conflicting emotions.

Sighing to myself, I slumped down in my seat and yanked a book out of my purse. It was a complete edition of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. The book was a monstrous size and there was a joke running around the bus that I carried a library with me wherever I went. However, I had nothing on Sarah. Like her brother, she was a voracious reader and carried at least three books with her at any given moment en route to a gig or tour.

"Game of cards, anyone?" Aaron piped up, holding a deck above his head. No one responded, but merely gave him a lazy glance, or in Lucy's case continued sleeping. "... No? Well, I like solitaire better than euchre anyway," he finished with a good-natured grumble, shuffling the cards back and forth in his hands deftly.

My stomach began to turn a little and I was glad that sleeping on moving vehicles was a particular strength of mine. Ever since about two weeks ago, almost anything could make me nauseous at the drop of a hat. Just one of the many "joys" of pregnancy, I supposed.

To my grateful surprise, my sleep was uninterrupted by nightmares, which had begun to come back as of late.

**A/N: Review?**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Nothing much to say here, except for a much overdue disclaimer. I don't own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. I just own my OC's.**

**Emily's POV**

It had been three months now. There was an unmistakable bump between my hip bones. It was small and you couldn't see it if you really tried, like I did, but it was there nonetheless. To compensate or as Mo put it, overcompensate, I wore more shapeless everywhere and made sure none of my clothing had any sort of definition around my waist. I was taking no chances in being found out before I was ready.

The Beatles had just released their second album, _Meet the Beatles!_ On it was the very first song George had ever written. Four months ago, I would've been hoping I would inspire his first song. I got my wish; it was definitely all about me. Unfortunately, it was about being heartbroken and lonely. We still hadn't spoken and at that point, I wasn't sure we ever would.

To say I had moved on wasn't exactly true. Any music I wrote turned out far too dark or sad for my liking, so I withdrew myself from writing on our next album since we wanted it to be a happy one. No one was really thrilled about that, especially because we depended on input from all of us to increase both quality and efficiency. But after I churned out my third straight sad song, they agreed it might be best for me to take a bit of a break.

Paul was over at the flat I just bought the month previously to have some tea and talk. He and I had grown to be very good friends and frequently went to each other's houses to talk. Often, Jane would be around or she came along. She and I also got on quite well. Paul loved to tease the pair of us about the fact that our hair was roughly the same vibrant hue. Mine was just a little darker. We claimed it was a sign of great intelligence. Paul said he wasn't so sure, considering John's hair was tinted red as well.

"Paul, d'you want more tea?" I asked, getting up with the tray balanced on my hands. He shook his head, reclining in one of my new armchairs. It was black leather and according to him, comfortable in the highest.

"No thanks, luv," he said. "I'll end up drownin' meself if I 'ave any more."

I laughed, ruffling his hair and walking into the kitchen. It was lovely to have Paul over and all, but it sometimes felt like he was keeping a close eye on me.

Even though I wasn't thrilled with the prospect of the backlash of an illegitimate child potentially impeding the success of Blessed Day, I would be the first to admit that I was growing excited by the prospect of having a child. I'd be a mother. I could give a child a better chance at childhood than had ever been given to me. That was probably the biggest deciding factor against my getting an abortion. I'd either have to tell people or wait until I couldn't hide my growing bump any longer. That still frightened me, but not as much as before.

A few days before, I'd gotten some blood in my underpants. This worried me extremely—I was pregnant, that wasn't supposed to happen—but when I talked to Doctor Smith, he said it was called spotting and not to worry. 'Just watch it for awhile,' he said. Thus far, it had started to slow down and I wasn't worried. Just another stupid pregnancy side effect, I guessed.

While in the kitchen, I suddenly had the strong urge to use the bathroom. _I thought this was only supposed to happen in the last couple months,_ I grumbled to myself, heading back. Right before I got there, I felt wetness. I groaned.

"Oh no," I mumbled, looking down and freezing. That was not urine. It was dark and spreading slowly like the formation of a bruise. Holy hell. It was _blood_. "Shit," I hissed, running into the bathroom and yanking my house slacks down.

Blood soaked through my panties and slacks and continued to come out in a steady flood. I sat down on the toilet and willed my body to make it stop. It wouldn't, it just kept coming out faster and faster. This was definitely not healthy, I was losing far too much blood in a short amount of time. Miscarriage, I panicked, trying to calm down. Maybe it's not, but something is definitely wrong.

After a minute of failed staunching, my head started to swim. If I couldn't stop this, I would bleed out. I stood hazily, thinking that would help. Not a chance; it made it worse. Black spots swam in my vision. "Paul..." I croaked, reeling and collapsing against the side of the tub.

My head struck a towel bar on the way down and I was floating in a sea of nothingness.

**Paul's POV:**

I relaxed in the armchair, stretching my arms above my head. Emily seemed to be getting back to normal at last, but her personality had changed a little. She was more tired, had a shorter temper, and was sentimental about nearly everything. You could almost pass it off as an after effect of the breakup, but not quite. There was something she wasn't telling anyone, but I wasn't going to press it.

I heard her trip a little and wondered what she was doing. It went silent again and I shrugged it off, reaching for the knob on the radio to turn it on. Before I could get a good station, I heard her call, "Paul..." The weak, quivery tone to her voice alarmed me and I stiffened.

"Em? What is—" A loud thump echoed from the back of the flat and I jumped to my feet, my hand slipping across the knob and creating an obnoxious amount of static. I ran in the direction of the noise, my heart skittering into a higher pace.

The door to the bathroom was half open and I poked my head in. The instant my vision came into focus I nearly passed out in shock.

Emily laid across the bathroom floor, a lump rapidly swelling across her forehead from where she had most likely hit her head on the towel rack. But what alarmed me most was the fact that she had a lot of blood coming from... well... down there. Her slacks weren't all the way up, which should have bothered me, but I was too concerned by the blood.

"Holy shit," I whispered, picking my way over to her and cradling her head in my lap. "Em, what 'appened?"

Wincing, I set her head back down and scrambled into the kitchen, grabbing the phone and hastily punching in the emergency number.

"C'mon, c'mon," I muttered, listening to the ringing. "Pick up."

Finally, they did. "Please state your emergency," a detached male voice said in an infuriatingly calm way.

"I'm at my friend's house an' she just passed out in 'er bathroom. She hit her 'ead and I think it's because she's bleedin' a lot, like she's on 'er time of the month really badly." By the time I finished explaining, my face was a cherry red color and I was burning hot. Yeah, I liked girls. Probably too much, as anyone who knew me could probably tell you, but I wasn't too keen on the erm... _side effects_ of being that gender.

"What is your location?" The news didn't seem to bother him overmuch, which made me want to punch him in the face if I could actually see him. Then I realized they were probably paid to be detached. Little ever got properly accomplished when emotions ran too high.

"321C. Greenwich Street," I told him. He informed me there would be an ambulance on its way and told me to keep her relatively comfortable until they got there. I hung the phone up as quickly as humanly possible and sprinted back to the bathroom. There was more blood, way too much. I pulled a towel from the rack, gently shifted her legs, wadded up the towel, and pushed it between them as a feeble attempt at keeping the bleeding at bay.

"What the bloody 'ell happened here, then?" I murmured, cradling her head on my lap again and stroking her hair. Her face was pale and deathly looking. "Don't you die on me, Emily Scott," I whispered to her, knowing she wouldn't hear me. "You've got too much to live for. George still loves ya, y'know. And you still care about 'im. It's just that neither of you know that yet." It's funny, the things that come out of your mouth when you know the person you're talking to can't hear you.

I'd unlocked the door previously and left it slightly ajar, which I suppose was appreciated by the paramedics. They came bursting through the door with a stretcher between them. Setting it down outside the bathroom, they came in and moved me out of the way. Their hands delicately rolled her onto her back while supporting her head. The female one did a quick survey of the amount of blood everywhere and then checked down below. A faint line creased her forehead and a look crossed her face.

Worry? Maybe. Pity? I didn't know why, but that looked to be the likely choice.

"What?" I demanded, fear sneaking into my mind and making itself at home. "What's wrong?"

The woman shook her head. "It's hard to tell for sure, but it looks to me like she's had a miscarriage. D'you know how long she was pregnant?" I felt my stomach do a strange motion that felt an awful lot like a poorly executed cartwheel.

I gaped, my mouth falling open like a fish out of water. "I... I didn't know she was pregnant," I croaked, rubbing my throat like it might make it return to a normal sound.

They had Emily bundled onto the stretcher now and were carrying her as fast as they could toward the ambulance. The woman huffed in irritation.

"I see this too much. Girl gets knocked up, doesn't tell anyone, an' nearly kills 'erself because her worryin' caused a miscarriage," she said disapprovingly. Her comment made me angry.

"Oi, that's one of me best mates right there, watch yet mouth," I said, swinging into the ambulance when the male paramedic offered me his hand for assistance.

"An' I'm entitled to me opinion, ain't I?" she scoffed, managing to still do a good job of her work and hold a steady argument. If I weren't so irritated, I might be impressed. "Just cause yer one of those Beatles doesn't mean you can tell me what to think or say, alright?"

Emily stirred groggily when they poked a long IV needle into her arm. Her eyes focused fuzzily on me. "Paul?" she mumbled, moving a little. I put a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't move, we're in an ambulance," I said quietly. "Don't strain yerself, luv."

A faint smile ghosted across her lips. "Ya never call me 'luv' unless yer worried." She stopped, her eyes acquiring a scared look. I caught what she was thinking before she said it and shook my head no. No, you're no going to die. I promise.

At the hospital, I hopped out and wasn't allowed to go any farther. Locating the front desk, I tapped the bell lightly. "May I... I..." The receptionist gawked at me, her wide blue eyes growing even wider in pure shock. I could feel my own eyes wanting to roll upward toward the ceiling.

"May I use yer telephone?" I asked politely. She nodded slowly and handed the unit through the sliding glass window to me. She remained there, staring at me as though she couldn't quite believe how lucky she was. I coughed quietly. "It's gonna be a few private calls." I stressed the word private.

"Oh, right," she said, shaking herself and leaping up from her chair, disappearing around the back.

Sighing, I dialed Ben and Michael's studio office first, they were probably there and deserved to know first. Michael picked up. "Wild World Studios, one of the Mr. Scotts speaking."

"Hey Mike, it's Paul," I said. My heart still thumped with worry and it was apparent in my tone.

I think he could tell. "Hi Paul, something wrong? Ya sound a little off."

"Uh yeah," I licked my lips nervously. "Well, I'm actually callin' about yer sister." I could nearly hear his confusion.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice becoming tense.

"She, well, the doctors think she 'ad a miscarriage," I was whispering by the time I finished my statement.

"What?" Mike sounded gobsmacked. "But she'd 'ave to have been... I didn't even know she was pregnant! Did you?" I heard a loud yelp from somewhere in the background of the call. Ben must've heard the conversation.

"No, I 'ad no idea," I said quietly, wondering how long she'd known she was expecting a child.

"Well, is she gonna be okay?" Now Ben's voice was on the phone. He sounded understandably frantic. "'Cause I don't even care if she didn't tell us. I just can't stand to see 'er die. We lost Mum, Dad's a basket case, I can't—" he broke off, a choking sob audible over the phone lines. Ben was the more solid of the two and the sound of him losing control for even a second was a little frightening.

"I think she'll be jut fine," I said. "The paramedics said it was bad, but not life threatening. They also said she miscarried because of stress."

Mike took the phone back, I heard it switching between hands. "Makes sense, what with all the travelin' and performin'. But ya know how Em is just petite in general?"

"Yeah. Why?" The question caught me off guard a little.

"She's a lot like our mum. She 'ad problems 'avin' kids cause 'er body was just so tiny. If she ever gets married, keep an eye out fer her, yeah?"

"I'll do that," I said. "Maybe I'll see ya later."

"Probably. Bye, Paul."

My next call was to Ringo's flat. George was probably there as well, given how much time he usually spent there. _Good job, mate,_ I thought. _Your title of the one with the most common sense in the group is deteriorating._ "Hullo?"

"'Lo, Rings. It's Paul."

"Hi Paul. What's up?"  
"Is George there?"  
Ringo paused for a beat. When he spoke again, his voice was confused. "Um, yeah. But why?"

"Make sure he 'ears this conversation, okay?" I knew I was being cryptic, but I got cryptic when I was nervous.

"Mate, you feelin' alright?"  
I sighed. "I'm fine. Emily's less so." That caught his attention; I heard him draw a sharp breath in.

"What 'appened? Is she okay?"

"She will be." I paused. "Ringo, she 'ad a miscarriage." I really hoped he was either sitting down or leaning against something solid.

"What the bloody 'ell?" Ringo's voice was a hoarse whisper, rough with pure surprise. "She was—I didn't—did you?" I managed to get the general gist of his rather jumbled up message.

"No, not 'til she collapsed today. How long, d'you think?"

"Probably around three or four months, at a guess." His voice was heavy now.

"Jesus Christ." I huffed out a long breath, itching for a cigarette to calm my nerves. "I can't believe she didn't tell anyone."

"Well..." Ringo trailed off. "I think she might'a told Mo at some point. Probably right around when she found out."

"Put 'er on," I said.

"If yer sure." He seemed uncertain.

"I am. Bye, Rings." There was a brief shuffling noise and Mo's voice came on.

"She what?" she squawked. "Oh my God, is she okay?"

"She's gonna be okay," I reassured her. "Did you know about it?"

Mo suddenly got quiet. "I took 'er to the appointment she found out at," she whispered. "I'm the only one who knew. She was so afraid to tell everyone. I'm not sure why. I think it was because she didn't want to be ostracized by the media, and gettin' Blessed Day a bit of flack as well."

I really needed that cigarette now. "This is more than a little fucked up. I'll talk to ya later, Mo."

George's POV

I gaped in stunned silence at the phone. Emily... pregnant? There was only one conclusion I could come to from that bombshell of all bombshells.

Had she made it full term, I would've been the father. Oh. Holy shit.

That wouldn't have worked out especially well, considering we weren't on good terms at that moment. As in not-speaking-to-each-other and may-as-well-be-nonexistent-to-each-other bad terms. Yeah, it was that bad.

But maybe this was my one chance to make things right. I made up my mind in roughly two seconds; I'd go see her right then. I'd be there when she came to and we could talk and... and I really had to get my arse out the door right then before I lost my nerve and went to go bury myself in my house with a record player and a bottle of gin.

"Rings, Mo? I'm goin' out. I'll see ya both later," I called, a ridiculously optimistic feeling bubbling inside me as I dashed out the door to the car I'd bought about two weeks before. It wasn't exactly the car I wanted, but the car I really wanted was way out of my price range even now.

"George, what are you—" I dimly heard Ringo's voice call after me as the door swung shut. If I stopped to listen to them, they'd tell me (and probably be right about it, too) I was being bloody stupid and could I please go sit the hell down and calm myself just a little.

At the hospital, I asked for her room number and was given it with a highly skeptical eye trained on me the whole time. I took it this receptionist had been reading a lot of fan mags as of late and was trying to discern just by looking at me if it was really all Emily's fault (which it wasn't) or if I was to be blamed just as much (and I was).

In her room, she was lying in a hospital bed with tubes and needles sticking in her arms and her face was a deathly pale color. It reminded me all too much of the car crash of a few months ago and it made me sick to my stomach just to think about that. My life had been so happy then. And now look where it was.

Taking a seat by the window, I gazed at her smooth, peaceful face and allowed myself to daydream about happier times between she and I.

About thirty minutes after I got there, she began to stir and I leaned forward, hoping intensely it didn't look quite as creepy as I pictured it to be in my head. The hope that had made a home in my chest swiftly made a break for it as soon as her eyes focused on me. She was not happy to see me. Not at all.

**Emily's POV**

I gazed blearily up at George. Why the hell was he here? "God, I must still be 'avin' nightmares," I snarked weakly, fixing him with a slightly diluted form of my death stare.

"Really? Me too," he said, a frown tugging his rather thick eyebrows together still further. "I'm 'aving an awful dream about me ex-girlfriend who was pregnant but didn't tell me until 'er miscarriage told me."

I pulled my scowl out in full force. "Oh yeah, it would've been _so_ easy to tell ya," I said, rolling my eyes. "Given that ya 'aven't spoken to me _at all_ since about three months ago. Absolutely. Easier than fallin' off a fuckin' log."

"_Why_ didn't ya tell me, though?" he asked plaintively. "We could've worked things out, bloody 'ell we still can!"

I gave him a long, even look that I hoped covered up the sound of my heart shattering to bits. "Do ya think so, George? Do you really? Even I know that's blind optimism. You an' I were finished the day ya decided to mess around."

"Em, please don't say—" he started, but I managed to cut him off.

"George, it's done. It's over. Nothing you can say or do is gonna convince me otherwise," I murmured, wincing as my pain medication began to wear off. "Get out, please."

"But—"

"George, please don't make me call the nurses and get you physically thrown out," I said, tears sparkling in the corners of my eyes once again. With an intake of breath meant to cover up a sob, he stood up and walked out in a broken way. I watched as the man I thought I would marry disappeared from my life for good.

**A/N: Oh dear... This can't be good, can it? **

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	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! Y'all are amazing :)**

My miscarriage was really the thing that broke me. On the inside, that is. On the outside, I decided to be happy and upbeat. During the day, I found it wasn't too difficult. I could smile and laugh with the best of them. At night, however, a deep, permeating sadness settled over me and I would cry myself to sleep as often as once a week sometimes. On tour, it was just a tear or two if ever because that was where I was happiest. Blessed Day was like my family, even more so when my brothers came along. They were excellent managers and I wasn't just saying that because I loved them. They knew what they were doing.

Ever since I got out of the hospital, Maggie, Lucy, and Sarah had been dragging me off to various meet and greets with guys they knew. It seemed they'd made it their personal mission to find me a knew boyfriend. I appreciated their efforts, but I just could not see myself with any of the guys I'd met as of then. Their faces all seemed to blur together after awhile.

"Oi! Who took me crisps?" Aaron asked indignantly, looking pointedly at the empty space where they'd been before he took a call from his wife and girls. Our rhythm guitarist was a notorious food thief, so we decided to pay him back in kind and split the crisps five ways in his absence. We all pointed at each other in response, and he sighed, flopping back down onto the hotel couch. "You lot are impossible."

"I need some air, I'll be back," I said, getting to my feet. We were in London, but far enough away from our homes to necessitate us staying in a hotel. It was one of the cooler hotels we'd stayed in because if you wanted to, you could go up to the roof to gaze down on the city streets below. In one section, there was a little open air restaurant. It was favored by couples old and young. Me, I just wanted to look down at busy London below where I stood, cars no bigger than the ones you might find in a child's box of cereal.

"Alright, be back soon, yeah?" Lucy called after me as I slid my coat over my arms. I nodded absently, wishing they'd stop treating me so strangely. I wasn't made of tissue paper; I wouldn't blow away if they did more than tiptoe around me.

Up on the roof, I pulled my coat up around my ears and put my hands on the cool stone, a snowflake or two dancing around my face joyfully. I had the sudden, irrational thought that it would be interesting to be a snowflake, fluttering down from the sky and spiraling to and fro. _Good Lord,_ I thought. _I think I really _am_ losing my mind._

"Well it's been awhile, hasn't it?" A voice made me jump. I whirled around to see a vaguely familiar face. American accent..._ bingo._

"Mr. Silver." I realized it was the young journalist from a few months ago. "Yeah. How are ya?"

"Max, please call me Max," he begged, his warm silver eyes large in his face. "As everyone has, I heard about your unfortunate split."

I scoffed, my mental walls going up sky high. "Oh, have you? An' I suppose you'll be wantin' an interview—exclusive, mind ya—about me an' my side of the story. The answer is no." I turned away.

"No, that's not it," he said, his hand touching my wrist for a brief instant. His fingertips were soft and smooth, not like the hands that had once, months ago, done the very same thing. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. It's not fair, all the negative attention you've been getting."

"Well, yer the first journalist to say so," I murmured stiffly, gazing up at the cloudy sky and feeling a snowflake land on my nose.

"Is that a thank you?" he asked. I could nearly hear the beginnings of a smile in his tone.

"I didn't know I'd ever be so grateful for plain common sense," I said, still clinging stubbornly to my irritation. It was melting away faster than I cared to admit. Max was a kind, charming man and I'd been feeling like the world was lacking in those departments of late.

"You talk in puzzles sometimes, you know?" he inquired, braving the icy chill of my indifference to come stand beside me. I looked over at his lean profile. It looked like he'd had a hard time of it before settling into his current job; bits and pieces of his clothing were far too loose and hung off his frame like a scarecrow.

"Side effect of being famous," I replied. "You can't just tell the world everything." He nodded, rubbing his arms briskly.

"It's awfully chilly up here, no wonder the open air restaurant closed early. It's only bearable when the sun's shining,' he said. Yep, definitely an American. This was nothing compared to what Mother Nature threw at us later in the season.

"It's only cold if ya wear a coat like yers," I pointed his thin jacket out. "No wonder yer cold, this is a fall jacket! We're 'eading into winter now in case ya missed it." I was only teasing, I just hoped he didn't mistake my humor for rudeness.

"It was fine this afternoon," he protested, a smirk letting me know he was well aware of my teasing. "I'm just a poor, confused American, take pity on me." _Were we flirting a little?_ I wondered.

"You get no pity from me," I raised an eyebrow. "You brought this on yerself, y'know. It _is _the first of December, after all. Not my fault if you Americans can't keep track of yer seasons."

"Are you even cold?" he asked.

"Nope." I shook my head. My coat looked thin, but it was actually quite warm, especially since I had on a warm jumper under it.

"You Brits must be pretty hot blooded." He shot me a sly glance and I clammed up. Not ready for that yet, no thank you!

"Not as hot as you when you choose to be," I replied, turning away and making for the exit to go back inside. Max called after me.

"Emily, wait!" I turned and he ran up to me, apology filling his eyes. "I'm so sorry, I got ahead of myself and overstepped a few boundaries more than I'd like to think about."

He looked so sincere, I couldn't stay mad. "So did I," I said. "I jumped to conclusions and tried to run away before I knew the full story."

"I don't blame you, I come on stronger than I mean to sometimes," Max said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Let's call it a big misunderstanding and start with a clean slate, okay?"

I smiled, one of my first genuine smiles in a long time. "Sounds good to me."

Max grinned, two small dimples appearing on either side of his face. "Since I was so rude to you, I think I owe you a drink."

My heart took a leap. Date? No, just an outing. Could I? Should I... I could not make up my mind. I didn't want to get involved, but I deserved to have a little fun once in awhile, didn't I? Yes. "Sure."

"It's not terribly interesting, but there's a little place down near the lobby we could go."

I nodded, not feeling horribly partial to any one thing. He held an arm out for me to take. Not feeling quite prepared for an offer like that, I ignored it with a slight shake of my head to indicate my deference. Thankfully, he didn't seem to mind.

At the little, cosy looking restaurant, Max ordered a bottle of red wine and got us a small table for two and two wine glasses. I kept my eyes trained on the floor until we were sitting down. He sat down, setting the two wine glasses on the table and pouring a small amount of the red liquid into each of them.

I took the glass in my hand, swirling the contents around a little and taking a sip. It was a rich, fruity wine. "So," I began, setting the glass down and interlacing my fingers under my chin, resting my elbows on the table. "What are you doin' 'ere?"

"Drinking wine with an excellent guitarist, what does it look like?" he chuckled, his odd, molten metal eyes glowing in the candlelight.

I laughed, brushing a strand of hair out of my eyes. "Not what I meant. Let me rephrase that; what are you doing 'ere in this particular 'otel? Why here, now?"

Max took a sip of wine in thought. "On an assignment. My manager wants a story about a certain band you may or may not be in and their concert series here in London. This is all off the record, by the way. As far as my story goes, this never happened."

I smiled. "Well, that's good. God knows the gossip rags'd be frothin' at the mouth to get a scoop about me an' a bloke in each others' company," I said, rolling my eyes and taking another sip of wine.

"Good thing I don't work for a gossip rag then, huh?" he inquired.

"Any publication can become a gossip rag with the right story," I said cryptically. "Thankfully, yer magazine has escaped that fate... so far."

A few minutes went by in comfortable silence. I sipped at my wine and watched the snow begin to fall harder, creating a glow under the street lights.

"So, what sort of music are you working on?" he asked at last.

"I get the feelin' that as soon as I answer that, it'll be on the record," I said, only half joking.

He shook his head with a reassuring smile. "I'm off the job, don't worry."

"Can I be sure of that?" I leaned forward, perfectly aware of the fact that I was flirting.

"Yes, and whether I'm on the job or not can be determined by one thing."

"And that thing is?"

He put a hand to his mouth like he was sharing the biggest secret in the world. "I never drink when I'm working," he whispered exaggeratedly.

I paused for a moment before bursting out laughing. The way he'd said it shouldn't have been that funny, but I couldn't seem to tame my giggles. Maybe it was the wine. Well, that's good, isn't it? We don't either, I expect our fans wouldn't like it so much if we did."

He gave a quirky half-smile. "Probably not. More wine?" He lifted the bottle in question. I nodded in consent and he poured more in.

"You tryin' to get me drunk, sir?" I teased, my eyebrows raising playfully.

"Thought never crossed my mind," he said with a careful shrug and a wink designed to keep me guessing.

After the second glass, I was feeling just the littlest bit fuzzy and sleepy. I took that as my cue to get going before I did anything particularly mind-bogglingly stupid. "This was nice, but I'd better get goin'," I said. "Gotta get up an' at 'em in the morning with a press conference and all."

He nodded, looking a little forlorn at the idea of cutting our outing short. "All right. Might see you tomorrow if I get the chance."

For some reason, I liked that prospect quite a bit. "Maybe," I said, getting up from the table and making my way out of the mostly empty restaurant. I was pretty sure Max's eyes didn't leave me until I was out of sight. _Oh boy, here you go again, Emily,_ a particularly vicious part of my brain muttered. _Falling head over heels before you even get to know the man_.

I shook my head a little to clear it. _No,_ I contradicted myself. _I hardly know him, that's true. But I don't even know if I want to be good friends, much less have anything more._

The doubting side of my mind chimed in. _Maybe you think you don't, but he knows what he wants out of this and deep down you know you want the same thing._

I really hated my conscience sometimes. I wished it would watch its bloody big mouth once in awhile.

Back in the girls' hotel room, I found Sarah waiting up for me. Maggie and Lucy were the 'early to bed, early to rise' types, while Sarah was like her brother in that sleep either like to visit or it didn't, depending on the night. Not surprisingly, she was reading until I came in. "You've been awhile," she said quietly, not wanting to wake our bandmates. I shrugged, taking a seat next to her.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I got a little distracted," I said.

She inhaled sharply through her nose. "Wine?" she questioned, her sharp brown eyes focused on me. I fidgeted.

"I, ah, met someone I knew upstairs an' we decided to get some wine an' chat awhile," I said defensively.

"Hmm, and was that 'someone' of the male gender?" Sarah asked, keenly seeing through my casual-as-an-elephant-walking-on-eggshells act.

"Perhaps," I said. "What, am I not allowed to date anymore? Is life 'after George' supposed to be like me livin' as a nun in a convent? You wouldn't be the first to think so," I said derisively.

She held up her hands in a peaceful way. "Not at all what I meant, I'm actually really 'appy for ya. Just keep yer guard up a little is all."

"With how far I've got it up now, it wouldn't kill me to lower it a little," I said, my mind churning. "Night, Sarah. I'll see ya in the morning."

I flopped unceremoniously into bed and let sleep invade my somewhat wine-hampered mind.

The next morning, we got up early and headed for the press conference. I, thankfully, wasn't hungover, but I felt a little more tired that morning so I drank a strong cup of tea before we left. As soon as I woke up, I began mentally steeling myself for rude or potentially awkward questions about my relationship—or lack thereof—with George. Never mind that we'd been finished for months, really.

"Hey, remem—" Fergus started. I flicked a lazy eye over at hm in the car.

"Don't yell at any reporters? Taken into consideration and noted," I responded. I'd have to bite my tongue and pretty hard, too. They were just looking for a bad reaction and I was not going to give it to them.

"Feel free to swear all ya like on the way back, though," he added and I smirked.

At the press conference, surprisingly, there were minimal questions asked about my dating life, to which I responded I was perfectly happy remaining single for the time being. I needed to focus on my music. Most of the questions were about our upcoming album, and we were only able to ambiguously answer most of them without giving away too much about the songs.

Afterward, I was walking out when Michael pressed a piece of paper into my hand. I gave him a questioning look. He shrugged. "Some bloke told me to give you this. Not booby trapped, I checked."

"Thanks," I said dryly. "What'd the bloke look like?"

"Uh, he 'ad blonde hair, 'e wasn't too tall..." My older brother wracked his brain for other descriptions. "... Oh yeah! He 'ad some of the weirdest eyes I've ever seen. They were a sort of silvery color." I knew who this note was from.

"Thanks, Mike," I said, tucking it into my purse and getting into the back of the car. I unfolded it when we were about halfway home. A gnawed on my lip to stop myself from smiling.

_Good press conference. Looking forward to the concert tonight. Home number is 839-5493 if you want to call me at any time. Not that you would, just putting the number out there. ~Max_

I could hear my conscience tsking at me, but I silently told it to shut up. I had this situation perfectly under control, thank you very much. Or did I?

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